


Destroying Death

by Kat_o_nine_Tails



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ...I honestly don't know how to tag this, Azkaban, Dementors, Harry Potter in Azkaban, Healer Draco Malfoy, Legilimens Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Seer Ron Weasley, Spy Severus Snape, Werewolf Hermione Granger, and not ocupationally
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21724999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_o_nine_Tails/pseuds/Kat_o_nine_Tails
Summary: Of course he would, Severus thought balefully as he looked at the ragged group of his former students and their guardian,It just figures that the first thing The Boy Wonder does upon being thrown into Azkaban is befriend a Dementor.
Comments: 69
Kudos: 414





	1. Corinthians 15:26

**Author's Note:**

> My unfinished project for NaNoWriMo. I have about half of it done, but it's an absolute mess, since I prioritized actually writing it to writing it cleanly, and the chapters are all really long, so the editing isn't going very fast either. And my priority is The Wizards Nephew, so updates will be slow. But I know how it goes and how it ends, and what I haven't written I've planned out, so it should get done at SOME point.

Harry Potter was fifteen when he died.

At least, that was what the Wizarding World was led to believe when Voldemort broke into the Ministry of Magic and escaped with Harry Potter and two other students before Dumbledore could even arrive to stop him. The Prophet had assumed him dead at the hands of the Dark Lord, because the alternative was far too horrifying to contemplate.

Severus Snape wasn’t convinced. 

Bellatrix had asked, once, if the brat was truly dead, and the strange expression that had passed Voldemort’s face for a split second before Bellatrix was writhing under the Cruciatus, had spoken volumes. Afterwards, he’d said in his whispery, high voice, only three words:

“He is contained.”

It was as good as an admission that Harry Potter was still alive somewhere, possibly trapped between the corpses of his little friends, likely in horrifying conditions, and maybe even insane by now. But he was alive.

Though even he would have to admit, four years without news, neither hide nor hair from Dumbledore’s favorite Golden Trio, had worn even his disbelief down to its bones. 

Severus knew he had to find him, had to find _them_ if they were even alive to be found. There was every chance he would only find bones, their owners’ eyes already rotted out of their skulls, but even in that condition they had to be found. Unfortunately, he had other things that occupied his attention these days.

Staying alive was one of them.

But sometimes, clues came creeping up to him. Like the night of Dumbledore’s death, when Draco Malfoy failed to kill his Headmaster and Severus had to step in on his behalf. The Dark Lord had been satisfied with Severus, and had welcomed him back with open arms.

But Draco was deemed too weak. Too useless, except as leverage against his parents. Narcissa had screamed and trashed in her sister’s and husband’s arms, begged and cried for her only child as Fenrir Greyback took him away, and the Dark Lord had laughed.

“Oh you’re gonna love it where you’re going,” Fenrir all but purred into Draco’s ear, “One of my own is there, was a classmate of yours I believe. I hope you two parted on good terms.”

Draco had cried. He’d begged. He’d promised to do better. 

He got taken anyway.

The Dark Lord came to them later, Lucius told his friend, had promised that their son was alive, and he would stay that way as long as they cooperated. He would stay _contained._

 _Contained._ The word rang in Severus’ head for nearly a week before he realized where he’d heard it before, in a similar context.

It was quite possible that, wherever Draco Malfoy ended up, Harry Potter was there as well.

And Fenrir Greyback knew where that was.

 _One of mine, a classmate of yours_ , he’d told Draco. Severus tried very hard not to connect those dots, but it was futile. Potter and his friends were taken a day before the full moon, and Fenrir had been one of the men that took them away. No matter how much Severus wanted those dots to remain ignorant of each other, they stubbornly drifted closer and closer until he had no choice but to reconcile them into a single truth.

After a sleepless night, Severus went to the Order of The Phoenix.

The reactions were mixed, from outrage to fear to hope to hatred. All of them were silenced when they saw the doe Patronus, the very same one Severus had been using to send anonymous warnings for months, the one that had been the bearer of both alarm and hope, now springing from the wand of Severus Snape.

It shut them up for a while at least. Not to mention the look on Black’s face had almost been worth risking his cover.

Almost.

So he explained what he found, what he’d heard and the dots he’d connected. Alastor Moody grit his teeth, clenched his fists, and said it was of little consequence. Harry Potter had been missing for over a year now. Whatever condition they found him in would be atrocious, there was no point in giving anyone any false hope. And if he was indeed turned into a werewolf then he would only be a liability.

Moody hadn’t even finished that sentence when Black flipped the table. Literally. From the look on his face, Severus was surprised he hadn’t turned into his dog form and ripped out Moody’s throat for even daring to suggest they leave his godson to his fate.

Severus discreetly told Shacklebolt that he would return when he had more news, gotten a nod in return, and slipped away during the commotion.

That was two years ago.

Things continued to get worse. For all the madness Voldemort displayed in abundance, there must have been some method to it. It had to be, because he was winning. The Ministry had fallen and been rebuilt. New laws were passed, each and every one as ironclad as the shrewd mind of Lucius Malfoy could make them. Fenrir Greyback had even warmed up to them, once he’d read the new edicts and the amount of freedom they afforded him and his kin.

Lucius had asked for just one thing: assurance that his son was alive.

Greyback had hesitated, but told them he would know within a fortnight.

He’d come back with four claw marks on his cheek, a haunted look in his eyes and a wild grin. 

“Your cub’s just fine,” he told Lucius and Narcissa, scratching away at his wounded cheek, “Made himself some friends, too.”

That was all he’d said, and maybe even that had been too much. The Dark Lord had leveled a sharp look at Greyback, though he hadn’t said anything. In fact, he’d pulled Greyback to the side for a brief conversation, and had walked away satisfied.

Severus returned to the Order. He was not greeted warmly, but he hadn’t expected to be, not with the news he brought with him. Greyback knew, and he wouldn’t tell, not without something he wanted more than Voldemort’s favor. Minerva had cursed, Black had screamed, Lupin fretted and Molly cried, but all their wails did was grate on Severus’ ears. 

He walked away, wondering why did he insist on doing this to himself.

Another year passed with no news of Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy. 

Until one day, Severus Snape went to Azkaban. 

Voldemort had cultivated the alliance with the Dementors, and he’d confessed to Severus and Bellatrix that it was one deal he could not afford to break. Many Mudbloods that were taken during the annual ‘harvest’ ended up in Azkaban, and the wails of children had made even Severus sick to his stomach. They were in Azkaban so the Dark Lord could negotiate with the Dementor King, and he had insisted on having backup. Bellatrix had insisted she go, admirably pushing through the trauma of her stay there, and Severus had not been given a choice.

So he went, keeping a stony look on his face, and the sound of his own thoughts was drowned out by the screams of the damned.

He wondered if this was what Hell looked like. 

That was when a bony hand grabbed his wrist, twisted his wand from him, and dragged him away before he could scream. Another hand made of bones barely held together by rotting flesh wrapped around his throat, not enough to cut off his breathing entirely, but enough to make him mute.

It was a Dementor that had done it, though there was a marked difference in her than the rest of her kin. Namely, that she had eyes instead of gaping holes, and that Severus could actually tell it was female. She looked… Newly made, if Dementors made their offspring from humans. Her skin was sunken and grey beneath her hood and her teeth were in worse shape than Bellatrix’s, but she had pale grey eyes, and Severus could see wisps of whitewashed grey hair falling from her temples.

He tried to struggle out of her grip, but it was like trying to break iron chains. She held one hand at his throat and another at his chest, paying no attention to his flailing hands. Finally accepting that his only option was to calm down and see what she wanted Severus stopped struggling and looked at her.

She made sure to catch his eyes, looking at him with what he guessed was impatience. She didn’t move, just held him in place and looked at his face stubbornly.

 _She’s trying to tell me something,_ Severus finally realized, and cast _Legillimens_.

He saw a door on the west point of the fortress, big and fortified, leading through a long corridor, down a staircase into a labyrinth, left, right, right, left, straight, right, left and then the iron bars of a door, and four bodies in the cell, huddled together, one with lots of hair, one white, one red, and one-

Severus saw two points of green in the dark when the Dementor was ripped away from him, leaving him to slump to the ground, gasping for air.

“I’m afraid this one is not for you,” Voldemort’s voice, lightly chiding, coming up behind the Dementor King. The female Dementor that had cornered Severus was being held in its iron grip, still looking straight at Severus, but her expression just as unreadable as the rest of them.

Surprisingly, it was Bellatrix that helped him up and handed him his wand back. Her face was as white as Severus’, and she was tense like a drawn bowstring. They probably thought Severus was about to get Kissed, and Severus didn’t disabuse them of that notion. 

To be quite honest, it didn’t feel far off. He felt like there had been a hand squeezing his lungs his entire life and he was just now allowed to breathe. There was cold sweat nearly pouring down his back and his hands were shaking, even though it was still summer. He had a feeling he’d been shown something important, but all he could remember about it was the _cold._

By the time he gathered his wits the Dementor King had already dragged away his disobedient vassal, and Voldemort was looking at him oddly. Severus straightened his spine and schooled his expression, giving a small nod to the Dark Lord. That was apparently enough, as Voldemort turned away to leave. 

Bellatrix was still looking at him with something that might, on anyone else, look like concern.

“I’m alright,” Severus insisted.

“In a day you won’t be,” Bellatrix told him, grimacing, “The first time they do it, you don’t even know what’s been taken from you.”

“...And when will I know?”

“The next time you try to remember something you’ve known your entire life,” Bellatrix told him, already walking behind Voldemort, “And you reach for it, only to realize there is nothing there anymore.”

She was right, in a way.

Severus had been sent back to his house on Spinner’s End, graciously turning down Voldemort’s offer to send Pettigrew with him. As much as he liked tormenting his childhood bully he did not want anyone to be there to see the inevitable breakdown he was going to suffer, according to Bellatrix. So he went home and poured himself a glass of wine, determined to ride it out in peace. Thankfully, even under Voldemort’s new regime, there was no school during the summer, so he would not have to contend himself with students. Especially those the likes of-

_Harry Potter._

The glass slipped from his hand as the memory slammed into him, and suddenly as clear as day, he could see what the Dementor had shown him.

The doors.

The staircase.

The labyrinth.

The cell.

_They were in Azkaban._

Severus nearly dropped his wand in his haste to raise it for Apparition. It was a bloody miracle he didn’t splinch himself, but he landed gracelessly on his back in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, scaring the daylights out of Sirius Black. At any other time he would have relished the look on his face, but as it was he was barely managing to draw breath.

Black suddenly blocked his vision, peering down at him in bewilderment and something that might pass for concern. Inordinately, Severus was reminded of Bellatrix. 

“They’re in Azkaban,” he gasped out, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, “They’re in Azkaban.”

“For fuck’s sake, Snivellus, make sense,” Black grunted but he pulled Severus off the floor and dumped him on the sofa. Severus wrapped his arms around himself, trying to regain even a scrap of his composure and failing.

“Here,” Black thrust a nearly full glass of Scotch into his face, “Trust me, it helps take the edge off.”

If getting drunk was the absolute last thing Severus needed, trusting Sirius Black was the penultimate. But he needed to tell them he’d found Harry Potter, and Molly Weasly’s son, and he needed to gather his wits to do it, and hell, if anyone would have an idea what helped it would be Black. He took the glass from him and gulped it down like it was water, ignoring the burning in his throat. 

He slammed the glass back down, took another deep breath and looked Black in the eye, but nearly lost his composure. Black’s eyes were pale grey, almost as pale as that Dementor’s, and he needed to look away.

“They’re in Azkaban,” he repeated.

“Yes, I gathered that,” Black told him dryly, “You still haven’t told me _who_ is in Azkaban. Other than you, considering the state you’re in. A Dementor get a little crush on you?”

“Piss off,” Severus glared at him, but he was right. He had finally managed to get his breathing under some semblance of control, so he took another deep breath and attempted to make some sense of his words, “Potter… And the others. They’re in Azkaban. Or somewhere under it.”

Black went pale at that, nearly recoiling in horror, “What?”

“West point. Big doors, down the staircase, leads to a labyrinth, left, right, right, left, straight, right, left. They’re there,” Severus gasped out, “They’re all there.”

Black sat in stunned silence, just looking at Severus for a few moments, then he abruptly stood up and went to the fireplace, presumably to call an Order meeting.

Severus buried his face in his hands, the alcohol finally dulling his senses and sending strange waves of warmth through him. He didn’t drink often, and never more than a glass of wine at the time, or a finger of Scotch, too scared to become a hollow shell his father had been. Coupled with the fact that he was skinny and hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, it was hitting him fast. 

Just as Black promised, the cold feeling and the dark images blurred before his eyes but did not entirely disappear. He kept seeing the dark corridors and the winding pathway every time he closed his eyes, and at the end of it there would be four children, huddled together for warmth and comfort, the only way they could get it.

_They were in Azkaban._

But of course that would be where Voldemort kept them. In the last four years Azkaban had become the Dark Lord’s favorite place to send people he did not like, almost to the point where he preferred to use _Stupefy_ rather than _Avada Kedavra_. Dementors had no use for corpses, after all.

Which posed another question: why would one tell him where to find them? How could she know he would even do anything with that information? What did she expect him to do? And why would she defy her King in the hope he would understand what she was trying to tell him? Was she even telling the truth or was it a trap of some kind?

“Snape?” Black shook his shoulder, “Everyone is here. You need to tell them what you told me.”

Severus finally looked up to see a wave of Weasley red, interspersed with other colors. Black wasn’t kidding, he really had invited the whole Order. Even Fleur Weasley was there, one hand on her obviously pregnant belly. Molly Weasley was still in her dressing gown, anxiously wringing her hands and looking at Severus like she expected him to start a gospel.

Maybe he shouldn’t have drank so much.

“Harry Potter is alive,” he finally started, “As is Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.”

Murmurs broke out, a bit of relief, some of confusion. Severus knew they wouldn’t react to the next bit of news as calmly.

“They’re in Azkaban.”

He was right. Because they all knew what that meant. Grown witches and wizards went insane within months of staying there. Potter and his friends had been fifteen when Voldemort took them away, after four years in complete isolation and only the dubious care of the Dementors for company Severus could just imagine the state they were in. 

“Severus, please,” Molly Weasley’s voice cut through his thoughts, “If you’ve seen them… Are my boys alright?”

Her eyes were pleading for an affirmative answer, but the way her hands were clenched together told him that she did not expect it. It was a vain hope of a mother who knew the truth but was not ready to face it.

“I only saw them for a moment,” Severus admitted, “But they were together and they seemed unharmed. I’m afraid that’s the best I can give you.”

“It’s more than I’ve had in the last four years,” her voice wobbled, but she did not let herself cry, “You have no idea how much it means to me. Thank you.”

She was right about that, Severus did not understand. Severus had looked for Harry Potter because he had a promise to keep, the same promise given to two different people whom he cared about. But Molly actually loved him like he was her own son. It was the kind of love Severus did not think he would ever be able to comprehend. 

“We have to get him out,” Black growled like the dog he was, “You said they were somewhere below Azkaban, and then you started mumbling something about a maze and left-right turns. Hope you still remember how to get in.”

“I’m not likely to forget anytime soon,” Severus bit back, “A certain interested party made sure it was seared into my brain.”

“Wait, what are you saying?” Bill Weasley cut in, “Who told you how to find them?”

Severus grimaced, but he told them the truth. How the Dark Lord had brought him to Azkaban with him, and his subsequent ‘kidnapping’. About the odd Dementor and the vision she’d shown him. How she’d sought him out specifically, though he did not know the reason for it. 

Black’s face had grown progressively more grim as Severus talked. 

“So you’re telling us,” Black growled, “that you _haven’t_ actually seen them. That this could just as well be a trap.”

“You can’t lie to a Legillimens, Black.”

“But… _You_ can,” Tonks cut in. Severus shot her a glare. 

“I’m a master at Occlumency, and it took me years of training to get to that point. I sincerely doubt they offer those lessons in Azkaban.”

“They are Dementors, Snivellus!” Black shouted, “Everything they do is to get into your head! That’s how they _feed!_ The one you met dug around your head and found the one thing it knew would send you running back, and you fell for it like an idiot!”

“And if it’s not a lie?” Severus bit back, “If they really are down there? The Dark Lord is rather fond of sending people he wants to keep alive and out of sight to Azkaban, it rather fits the criteria.”

“But why would a Dementor show you that?” Lupin finally chimed in, “One would think it would be in their interest to make sure they _stay_ there. And even if it wanted to get them out, how would it know to seek you out specifically?”

Sometimes, Severus hated Lupin for reasons other than that he tried to kill him when they were sixteen. Those were the exact same questions Severus had asked himself and had no adequate answer to. He had no idea why she would show him that. He had even less as to why she would seek him out instead of Bellatrix, since as far as she knew, he would be just as likely as the madwoman to go warn Voldemort of her betrayal.

He didn’t know anything, and he was drunk, and likely walking straight into a trap. He didn’t care.

“Fine,” Severus stood up, wobbling a little, “You’re probably right and it’s probably a trap. So nobody will mind if I go home and sleep off my _delusions_.”

He stalked past them, ignoring their concern and disappointment, and Disapparated once he was in the hall.

The first thing he did once he got home was shed his robe and collapse face-first on his bed.

Severus wasn’t supid. He knew damn well what a magical compulsion looked like and the one cast on him was bloody _strong._ Every time he closed his eyes he could see the visions of the winding corridors leading to the cage deep underground. It felt like a siren call, the need to find them. A hook buried in his brain, tugging him back to Azkaban.

He spent a sleepless yet blurry night twisting and turning in his bed, disconnected images and thoughts whirring in his head, wondering _why why why._ Why would she do that? Why would she choose Severus? Why go against her orders? Why make it so he only remembered what she was trying to tell him when he was alone? Why cast a compulsion? Why show it to him if it wasn’t real?

Why why why…

Come sunrise, Severus got up and made his decision.

Though it had seemed counterintuitive at first, the compulsion was actually what had convinced him. There were enough prisoners in Azkaban that food shortage was of no concern, and yet that Dementor had done everything in her power to pass him a message without either Voldemort or the Dementor King knowing, to make sure that he would return to Azkaban with the intention of springing out prisoners. 

So the question turned from ‘Why would she do that?’ to ‘Why _else_ would she go through all this trouble to do it?’.

Even if it was a trap, Severus judged it worth investigating.

So the next morning he downed a Hangover Cure and went to ask Narcissa if she would help him make a Portkey.

“Why on Earth for?” Narcissa was bewildered, “If you explained your reasons to our Lord I’m sure he could order one made for you. You are his favorite, after all.”

That was news to Severus, though it would explain why Bellatrix had been glaring at him so much lately. But that was a tank of Grindylows Severus was very much _not_ prepared to open. 

“It is mostly a small matter, not worthy of his attention.”

“But it is worthy of mine?”

“Perhaps,” Severus raised a meaningful eyebrow, “You are much fonder of dragon figurines than he is.”

Narcissa understood immediately. She froze on the spot for a moment but recovered so quickly it was barely noticeable. She turned to Severus with a shrewd eye

“You wouldn’t happen to be talking about that little porcelain dragon set Greengrass outbid me on a few years ago, would you?”

And that was the reason Severus went to Narcissa instead of Lucius. The Malfoy patriarch was as cunning as they came, but against a Legillimens he didn’t stand a chance. Narcissa wasn’t as skilled at Occlumency as Severus was, but she was good at it and she was even better at being underestimated and avoiding suspicion. Let the Dark Lord think her sister had inherited all the brains in the family, and in the meantime Narcissa would weave her webs so thin nobody would notice until they were hopelessly tangled in them.

“The very same,” Severus smiled, and made sure it looked rueful, “I do understand it is a little gauche to be asking you for a portkey to get you a present for your birthday, but it is fast approaching and I would rather not be late should I be summoned in the middle of my search.”

“Perfectly understandable, Severus,” Narcissa chirped, buoyed with a renewed hope, “I’ll have my husband make a few inquiries to his colleagues. He will probably be relieved that you have inadvertently reminded him of my birthday.”

“I’m sure,” Severus nodded at her, bid his goodbyes and went on pretending everything was perfectly normal.

A week later, Narcissa beckoned him aside to mournfully tell him she couldn’t make him the Portkey, the rules and regulations have gotten tighter and there was nothing even Lucius could do.

Severus nodded, said Apparition would have to be enough in this instance, and went about his day with his pocket imperceptibly heavier.

That was the easy part done. The next one would be a lot harder: getting an excuse to disappear for at least a day. The Portkey Narcissa provided would transport him directly to Spinner’s End from anywhere in England, but there was still the problem of getting to Azkaban himself. It was Unplottable so he would either have to pick a moment the Floo connection was unmonitored or fly there. 

A discreet inquiry to Lucius scratched the Floo off the list. The Dark Lord had given the order some years ago that the only way someone was taking the Floo to Azkaban was either with him or with his express permission. Even Greyback, who was predominantly tasked with escorting the prisoners to Azkaban, had to expressly ask for passage every time he transported Mudbloods and insurgents. 

In retrospect, it really should have been obvious the Dark Lord was hiding something in Azkaban. But it would have made less sense if he was trying to keep Potter alive. Azkaban wasn’t exactly known for the longevity of its residents.

Things weren’t adding up. Logic was screaming at him that the werewolf was right, he was going to Azkaban like a moth to a flame. Or into a spider web. 

Nobody would think to look for his body beneath Azkaban.

Then again, nobody would have thought to look for his body in the Shrieking Shack either. Death bothered him less now than it did when he was sixteen, and if he died fulfilling his mission, then so be it. 

In the end, when opportunity hadn’t presented itself, Severus decided to make one. During a lull in activity he requested three days leave to harvest May Mice, a breed of magical house mice native to the Isle of May, as it was the last chance of the year to do so. He had prepared a potion recipe that would require May Mice tails, and was confident it would pass muster if he was ordered to hand it over.

But Voldemort just smiled at him almost indulgently for a moment and sent him on his way with a wave of his hand and an order to show his latest concoction once he was done.

It was an overall profoundly creepy experience, but it went better than he would have thought. Maybe Narcissa’s theory had some merit.

Permission granted, once he got to the Isle of May the first thing Severus did was actually gather some May Mice, and then cast the strongest detection spell he knew to locate runic arrays.

When Black told of his escape to Azkaban, he had said that the closest bit of land had been the Isle of May, though he had realised that only later. It was the closest shore he could swim to and it had been enough to orient himself and figure out where he needed to go next.

So Azkaban had to be within swimming distance of the Isle of May, and the Unplottable wards that could hide an entire island required a runic array big enough that Severus’ spell should be able to detect it as long as he was in the right position. From there, he would be able to fly.

The first day Severus spent pacing the shores and cliffs had yielded no results. But on the second day the spell activated when he was on the easternmost point of the island. There, towards the North Sea, there was something someone was trying to keep unknown.

_There they are. Azkaban._

Severus took a deep breath, bracing himself both physically and mentally, then jumped off the cliff.

The wind caught his cloak, and a burst of magic was enough to keep Severus elevated. A second later he was a dark spot over the sea, disappearing into the horizon. 

He’d been flying for maybe ten minutes when the mist started appearing. It dragged over the surface of the sea like stray dust bunnies, getting progressively more dense the further Severus went. Dark clouds soon followed. The sun was blocked out within minutes and the mist turned an oppressive grey colour that was almost suffocating. The temperature dropped, though whether that was due to the proximity of the Dementors or because of the lack of sunlight and the presence of the northern wind, Severus couldn’t tell.

To be on the safe side, he cast a Disillusionment spell over himself. He wasn’t sure if the Dementors could even see the way humans could, but the one that passed him the message did have eyes, so it was a distinct possibility the others weren’t as blind as people believed them to be. Severus raised his Occlumency shields hard and strong, stronger even than the ones he held when Voldemort himself was digging around in his mind. Unless a Dementor was floating right in front of him, they would not be able to sense him.

The mists turned so thick he couldn’t see where he was going for a full minute, and then they suddenly just disappeared, and right before Severus stood a fortress of black stone.

_Azkaban._

It seemed even more formidable from the outside then it did from the inside. The tattered cloaks of the Dementors floated around it like a halo of despair, and the screams of their victims were the music of Hell. 

It said a lot about the impression Azkaban left if it was enough to turn Severus this maudlin.

But he didn’t have time to contemplate the sheer existential dread the entire island was saturated with. He had to get to the West point, which was thankfully turned towards him. Once he was close enough he discarded the Disillusionment, figuring that the billowing of his cloak was similar enough to that of a Dementor that he would gather less attention without it.

He recognised the doors the moment he saw them. They were exactly like the ones in his vision and Severus wasted no time in landing before them. They were locked behind some strong wards, wards Severus would have had no chance of breaking on his own.

Fortunately, his messenger had thought of that too.

A single rock stood right next to the door. At first glance it seemed like nothing peculiar, but the entire island was comprised of dark stones. This one was simple limestone, and it had been placed far too deliberately to be anything but the key.

Severus still cast a few Revealing Charms on it, but there were no curses on it. Still cautious, he floated it up for inspection, and sure enough, instructions were carved on the underside. 

Or rather, it was a single word and a sign similar to the ace of clubs, but they were clearly the incantation and wand movement required. Severus had no doubt he had only a single shot at it so he swirled his wand a few times until he was confident he had it correctly, and recited the word without the accompanying wand movement until he could do it smoothly. 

Time to see if it was really a trap, or something else.

“ _Bhewmiosmi_ ,” he cast at the gate. For a few seconds nothing happened, but then the rock in his hand turned to dust and the lock mechanism behind the door began to whir. Severus was reminded of the vault door in the Gringotts bank.

Finally, the door opened a crack. It took all of Severus’ strength to pull it open enough to squeeze through, and it was in the nick of time too. A quiet click was his only warning before the doors snapped shut abruptly, leaving a corner of his cloak trapped in it, and him in complete and utter darkness.

“Shit,” he cursed, then cast Lumos. He appeared to be in the exact same hallway from his vision, so at least he was on the right track.

“ _Lumos maxima_ ,” the light floated up, giving off enough light to see what he was doing. He crouched down to try and pull his cloak from the door, but it was to no avail. No other way then.

“ _Diffindo. Evanesco_ ,” he cast at his cloak and the scrap left in the door jamb. The scrap obediently disappeared, hopefully in its entirety, “ _Lacarnum Reparo_ ,” he cast at his cloak and watched it knit itself back together. The patch that appeared was somewhat thinner than the rest of the cloak, but unless someone had their eye inches from it they wouldn’t notice. 

There wouldn’t be much point in rescuing anybody if the Dark Lord figured out who was to blame for it. Severus did not delude himself into thinking he would be able to conceal that information from Voldemort if he really wanted to dig it out of Severus’ brain. He could not afford to leave any trace behind.

He summoned the light back to the tip of his wand and cautiously walked down the hall. Within a minute he found the stairs, descending in a spiral towards the abyss. Exactly like the stairs in his vision.

Severus hesitated on the top stair perhaps a moment too long, because after nearly a minute of standing there he felt freezing air on the back of his neck, like a stray breeze sneaking under his scarf.

Or a breath.

Severus turned around so fast he nearly tripped down the stairs, his heart in his throat. If he’d been discovered-

But there was no one there. 

Not anymore, at least.

He needed to hurry.

He shot off down the stairs so fast he nearly flew. They went on for so long he actually felt his ears pop. Unfortunately, that meant he would have to bring whoever he found down there back up, or their inner ears were going to all but explode when the Portkey was activated. It was bad enough that Spinner’s End was so far south from Azkaban, and his passengers were likely not going to be in good health. He’d brought several potions with him to treat the worst of what he found, but he had no idea what awaited him at the end.

Finally, the stairs ended with a stone wall. There were no bricks in it, and the faint traces of spell damage indicated that the entire underground floor had been carved directly into the island. On either side of the stairs were narrow corridors, leading in opposite directions.

_Left._

Severus turned left. Then right, at the first bend, again right, then left, then neither, straight along, then right, and then left-

_And found himself facing Death._

“ _Expect-_ oh,” he cut himself off and lowered his wand, “It’s you.”

The Dementor that had given him the message. She stood, or rather floated, in front of him with her arms crossed, as if to ask him what took him so long. 

“I’m here, aren’t I? Where are they?” he asked her, still cataloguing his memories for ones happy enough to cast a Patronus. If this had been a trap all along…

She gave him another piercing look that sent shivers down his spine, but eventually turned around and floated away from him. Severus followed, still braced for betrayal, but willing to go along with it. For now. He clutched at the Portkey necklace with his left hand, his thumb on the little medallion that hid the activation switch.

She led him farther down the line of cells, some that still had bones leftover in them, discarded and forgotten once their owners had died. One cell looked like it had contained a rabid werewolf for more than one full moon, and Severus remembered Fenrir’s words with dread.

_One of my own is there. It looks like your cub has made some friends._

Not for the first time, Severus feared what he was going to find down there. 

After an eternity that lasted a second, she stopped before a cell near the end of the hall. She floated there, looking through the bars like she’d forgotten Severus’ existence. Severus approached on his tiptoes, waiting for a sound of _something,_ anything to confirm that there was anyone alive in there.

One eye still on the Dementor, Severus turned his still-lit wand towards the cell.

_There they were._

Four bodies huddled close together, their arms wrapped around whoever was nearest, all of them wearing dirty striped jumpsuits. Granger was closest to the bars, her formerly bushy hair looking more like a mane of a sickly lion. Weasley was the farthest away, his characteristic orange hair long and matted into clumps, yet still recognisable.

But in the middle…

Potter was closer to Granger, his face nearly hidden by her hair. His head rested on top of Draco’s, who had curled himself so tight he was nearly hidden in between Potter and Weasley. His moon-white hair had become grey to the point it blended into the stone walls behind him, almost like a camouflage.

They were sleeping. So that was why it was so quiet. For a moment he’d feared they’d died that way, ineffectively seeking protection, but he could see a lock of Draco’s hair moving with Potter’s breath, and see Granger’s chest rising and falling with her own. 

They were all painfully thin, dirty, likely half-mad and nearly blind from the darkness, but they were alive.

The Dementor was looking at him.

“I brought a Portkey,” Severus told her quietly, “It can go through the Unpottable wards and bring them to my home, but we need to get them up to the surface first or they will get Decompression Illness.”

She looked him in the eye a moment longer, likely Legillimizing him, but in the end judged him truthful. She raised a hand palm up towards the bars and a previously unseen latch groaned, part of the bars swinging open.

Granger woke up at the noise then immediately covered her eyes with a hiss when the light from Severus’ wand hit her. Severus lowered it behind the sleeve of his robe, dimming it for their eyes to adjust, if they still could.

Granger looked up at him as if she couldn’t believe he was real. “You really came.”

“Indeed,” Severus watched as the Dementor floated into the cell towards the sleeping teenagers. Curiously, they did not seem to fear their jailer, barely paying attention to her when they spotted Severus, even though her rotting skeletal hands were on their shoulders, nudging them into wakefulness.

“Ron said you would, if Persephone showed you how,” Granger stood up and watched him cautiously, still behind bars, “But we had no way of knowing how much of what he saw was true.”

There was a hidden question in her words, but Severus felt he was missing some crucial information in figuring out what it was. 

“Persephone?” he asked instead.

“That’s what we’ve been calling her,” Potter’s voice came behind Granger, shortly followed by the rest of him, “The Goddess that guards the souls of the Underworld. It seemed appropriate.”

Something clicked in Severus’ brain right then, as he looked at the ragged group of his former students and their guardian. How they all stood close to her without fear, or even trepidation. They looked more anxious looking at Severus, even though he’d come to rescue them. 

Rescue them on the magical compulsion of a Dementor that guarded them…

He realised it then, and nearly groaned.

 _Of course he would_ , Severus thought balefully, _It just figures that the first thing The Boy Wonder does upon being thrown into Azkaban is befriend a Dementor._

“Well, it wasn’t the _first_ thing,” Potter smiled a little sheepishly, “And it was more of a group effort.”

Dear Merlin, he’d said that out loud? He needed to get out of this godforsaken place before he lost his mind as well. “Are any of you hurt or ill?”

They looked at each other in question, but eventually they all shook their heads.

“Good. Follow me,” Severus turned the way he came, “We need to be close to the surface before we can Portkey.”

He could hear shuffling steps behind him, so at least they started listening to him now, even if it was perhaps four years too late. “How much time do we have?”

“Long enough,” Weasley spoke with surprising confidence, “We’re alone down here, and Persephone is the only one guarding us.”

That was good news at least. Severus led them through the labyrinth in reverse, no more words spoken between them, though he could hear them whispering amongst themselves.

Severus had to admit he was caught off guard by how remarkably… _sane_ they were. They spoke normally, and though they were understandably wary they weren’t twitchy and they didn’t seem paranoid. They were aware of their surroundings, weren’t delusional and they’d recognised him the moment they saw him. 

Although he probably didn’t feature in many of their happy memories, so he decided to reserve his judgement on that one.

Still, they were showing remarkably few signs of trauma. Potter hadn’t even lost his sense of humour, poor as it was. Black had been a single straw short of a basket case when he’d escaped, Lucius still dissociated on days when he couldn’t keep the memories at bay and even Hagrid had looked haunted for months after, even though his stay in Azkaban had probably been the shortest.

If they weren’t so starved and their hair so long, Severus wouldn’t have believed that they’d spent four years in Azkaban.

In fact, Draco seemed the worst for wear, even though he’d been imprisoned a full year after the rest of them. The Gryffindors had apparently accepted him into their fold, likely out of necessity rather than a desire to do so, but out of all of them he had yet to speak a single word. Even a whisper.

Severus decided he would need to get him alone once they got out. But for now, they had more pressing concerns.

The staircase, for a start. Their time at Hogwarts had prepared them well for braving endless stairs but they were four years out of practice, not to mention malnourished. Severus cast Lumos Maxima so the light hovered over them, lighting the stairs so they wouldn’t trip.

Strangely enough, he needn’t have worried. Granger led the way after him and every time he turned around to check on them she was right behind him, followed by Draco. In fact, she was pulling him along by the hand, and he was doing the same to Weasley, forming a line reminiscent of a childhood game. But it worked, and they had no trouble keeping up with Severus.

At least until they came to the depressurising point. Severus could feel it building in his skull and behind him Granger stopped to clutch at her temples with a whimper of pain. Unfortunately, they had no choice but to wait it out. Severus hadn’t known that Azkaban’s levels went that deep so he hadn’t thought to bring anything to help with that. 

Then something strange happened.

Draco stepped up until he was on a step directly below Granger and raised his hands to her face. He pressed his palms to her temples and buried his fingers in her hair, then held them in place for a few seconds until Severus could see Granger’s shoulders sagging with relief. She offered him a quiet whisper of thanks, to which he only gave a small nod and turned back to do the same to Weasley.

Severus watched him do it with confusion and a slight, yet nagging suspicion. But the theory his brain offered was impossible.

There were legends of witches who could heal any manner of illness or injury with a single touch, their powers so great they were often revered as Goddesses themselves. They were sought out by kings and emperors, generals and warlords, nobles and commoners alike, souls that had been written off by healers and doctors, coming to them seeking a miracle. 

But even if the legends had ever been true, they were gone now. No written record of one such healer existed since the Witch Hunts in the Dark Ages. Magic had been culled in those centuries, and the miracle healers were no more. 

Draco had never shown any interest in healing magic. Furthermore, there had never been a record of a wizard being blessed with the healing touch, only witches. Whatever he was doing now could not be what Severus was thinking of.

This place was playing tricks on him again.

When Draco was done with Potter he returned to his place behind Granger, who was looking at Severus inscrutably, her bright amber eyes hard.

_Amber…?_

Severus shook his head and turned back to his ascent. Whether his suspicions had merit or they were only a product of his delusions, they could wait. He had to get them off the island first, then he could let Black and Minerva sort them out. They were far better equipped to do it than Severus was. 

Draco did the same thing to them once they had climbed to the top of the staircase, though Severus kept his eyes averted and did his best to keep his mind clear. What he was thinking of might have been impossible, but his mind was not a safe place for even such suspicions. 

Whatever the truth was, it was better left unknown.

“Professor?,” Potter’s voice turned his attention back to them. Severus took out the Portkey necklace and handed it to them.

“It has the Everexpanding Chain,” he explained as he stretched it over Granger’s shoulders, “The activation switch is in the medallion, which I will press when you are all secure. It will bring us to my home, and from there I can send you through the Floo to Grimmauld Place. It’s under the Fidelius Charm, with Black as the Secret Keeper. He can tell you the address and take you with him.”

They all maneuvered the chain so they were clustered together with it wrapped around their shoulders. The Dementor, one fittingly named Persephone, helped them adjust it without attempting to join them.

“What about you?” Potter asked her with worry in his voice. Persephone put her hand on his arm and looked him in the eyes for a few moments.

“Okay,” Potter said in the end, then turned to Severus, “We’re ready.”

Severus curbed his curiosity at what exactly Persephone had shown Potter. Whatever further plans they had hatched, he was clearly not a part of them, and it was better he did not know. 

Once they were secure and Persephone had floated a step back, Severus flipped open the medallion and pressed the button. The familiar sensation of a fishhook behind his navel tugged him away from the nightmarish island and after a few moments threw him into his sitting room on Spinner’s End. 

While he managed to remain on his feet, albeit unsteadily, the same could not be said for his passengers. Potter had landed rather ungracefully and the chain around him pulled the others along with him. Granger was also looking rather green, but Draco hurriedly put his hand on the back of her neck. Her colouring returned to normal after a few seconds, and his carpet was saved. 

“Sit down on the sofa, I’m going to cast some diagnostic charms on each of you to see what we’re dealing with,” Severus waved towards the sofa, “Then I’m calling Black. You can wash up when you get to Grimmauld Place, this is more important.”

Granger opened her mouth to argue, but Potter stopped her with a hand on her arm and a meaningful look. She grimaced but followed him to the sofa, as did Weasley and Draco. Severus dearly wished to roll his eyes at the display of fearless leadership but since they were actually listening to him for once he managed to refrain himself.

Still, it was clear that where Potter led others would follow, so Severus first cast the diagnostic charm on Potter. He caught the scroll that jumped from the tip of his wand and hoped for the best while doing a mental tally of the potions he currently had in his lab, preparing for the worst.

The list was shockingly short. Severus could only blink in confusion when the only ailments that _were_ listed, except malnourishment, were years old. Pre-Azkaban old, actually. He couldn’t help shooting a look at Draco before he caught himself and looked at Potter.

“Well you were certainly better taken care of than I feared,” he settled on saying, “I’ll still do the rest of you, to be safe.”

They didn’t say anything as Severus as he cast the same diagnostic charm on Weasley, Granger and lastly Draco. They all produced similar results, although Granger had an alarming amount of healed fractures in her bones that the scroll specified were self-inflicted, and all in the four year period. Severus cast another spell on her to make sure that those fractures were healed correctly, and had to explain it to her when she tensed at the unfamiliar wand movements. 

Even more interesting was that the fractures were all correctly treated. Not with Skele-Gro, since there would _be_ no traces of fractures if that were the case, but all were properly set and healed. Even if Granger still had some growing to do her previous injuries shouldn’t give her any trouble. 

He firmly decided their surprising health was due to having at least one jailer who cared about their wellbeing and knew how to maintain it, and left it at that.

“Stay where you are, I’m calling Black,” he told them before stalking off to the fireplace. He could hear indistinguishable whispers start up behind his back. He ignored them.

The fire flared green as he threw the Floo powder in it, but when he stuck his head through the fireplace the sitting room was empty. He called for Black a few times but nobody came to see what all the ruckus was about, not even the demented elf. Severus scowled and pulled his head out of the fireplace. His guests were looking at him curiously.

Severus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind enough to summon a happy memory but it just wasn’t happening. He was tired and overwrought, not to mention he’d just returned from Azkaban, producing a Patronus was beyond his reach at the moment. In the end he gave up with a sigh.

“Change of plans,” he told his former students without looking at them, “Until I can get that misbegotten mutt to answer his own fucking Floo you need to stay here. The bathroom is that way,” he waved a hand in the right direction, “I’ll lend you some clothes. If you need me after that, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

With that he stalked over to the staircase hidden behind a bookshelf. He left it open so he could hear if his guests got up to any mischief and all but stomped over to his bedroom. He threw open his closet and took out some shirts and trousers. With the exception of Weasley they would all have to roll up the sleeves and trouser legs, as their diet up to now didn’t exactly lend itself towards aiding teenagers in their growth spurts. Potter and Granger were both a head shorter than him, the same as they’d been the last time they’d darkened the doorway of his classroom.

After a moment of consideration he also took out four pairs of socks and pants and an undervest for Granger, if not for modesty then for warmth. They didn’t have much natural insulation left, after all. 

From the bottom of the closet he also took out four towels, which was incidentally all he had. He wasn’t usually home enough to warrant any more. 

He walked down with clothes on one arm and the towels on the other to find Granger and Draco gone with Potter and Weasley still on the couch, their heads close together in a quiet conversation that ceased as soon as they heard Severus approaching. He stalked over to them and threw the clothes over the back of the sofa.

“Pick out something. One of you can throw a towel to-,” he cut himself off when he noticed something was amiss, “Who is in the bathroom right now?”

“Hermione and Draco,” Potter said blithely, his attention more on the clothes laid out.

“Both of them?” If they dared to do anything _in_ _his bathroom…_

“They both wanted to be the first in, so we just told them to go together,” Weasley shrugged, “Wouldn’t be the first time they saw each other naked.”

Severus felt his eyelid twitch.

“He means in Azkaban we got a bucket and a rag and no privacy,” Potter added, “They’ll be too busy getting clean to do anything you’re thinking of.”

Either Potter had grown more observant during his stay, or someone had actually managed to cram some knowledge of mind magic into his thick skull. Knowing from painful, personal experience that the latter was impossible, Severus decided it must be the former. So he just sighed, handed over the towels and went to the kitchen. Awful students or not, even Severus wasn’t cruel enough to leave them hungry for Merlin knew how long until Black thought to come home.

They needed something light yet nutritious, so the obvious answer was potato soup. Severus pulled open the cupboard with Preservation Charms on it and produced potatoes, carrots, onions, some garlic and a bundle of parsley. He had milk and butter in the ice-box, it would do rather nicely.

It was actually a well guarded secret, but Severus loved to cook. He did it sometimes when he needed to relax, as making a perfect dish was almost as challenging as making a perfect potion, but there was little to no risk of explosions, and no masters breathing down his neck to get it correct.

It also reminded him of the few fond memories he had of his mother, but that was neither here nor there.

He made the soup a little thinner than he would usually prefer but he didn’t want to overwhelm them. At some point Draco and Granger had indeed come out of the bathroom together, Severus’ clothes making them look horribly waifish. Granger’s hair had also been hacked away, leaving it barely reaching her shoulders even while wet. They sat together at the kitchen table with ill concealed looks of hunger and excitement. 

“The bowls are over there,” Severus waved towards another cabinet, “The spoons are in the drawer above it.”

Granger hopped up to get them. Draco immediately looked uncomfortable at being abandoned with no instructions but Severus ignored him. Granger could still see and hear them, now was not the time to question him. He poured the milk into the soup cauldron and let it simmer for a few more minutes. 

Before Granger could set the five mismatched bowls on the table Severus stopped her. He took out his wand to elongate the table and multiply the two chairs, and did not fail to notice how they both tensed when Severus’ wand was pointed at Draco for a split second. He wondered if they were tortured prior to their incarceration to warrant such a reaction, or if Greyback had sought revenge for the slash marks on his cheek.

Slashes clearly made by werewolf claws, as they’d scarred. The only injuries that left scars on werewolves were those inflicted by either themselves or another of their kind.

Severus was reminded of Granger’s eyes going amber. 

The single cell that looked like a werewolf had been trapped in it.

_One of my own is there._

One. 

He supposed Moody would be pleased it wasn’t Potter. 

Severus was cut out of his musings by the bathroom doors opening and Potter and Weasley emerging from it. Weasley’s hair was cut short as well, but far closer to his head than Granger’s, which was probably the reason why they went to the bathroom in pairs. Quite frankly, it wasn’t much of an improvement but Severus kept his opinion to himself.

“Here,” he set the cauldron with the soup in the middle of the table. After a second of consideration he cast a mild cooling charm on it before he set the ladle down. He didn’t feel like treating burns tonight, “You can start now. I’ll try to call Black again.”

The two boys looked inordinately surprised that they were being offered food by their ex-professor, but they didn’t linger. Within a second they were both at the table enthusiastically ladling soup into their bowls. Weasley didn’t even bother with a spoon, he just slurped it straight from the bowl.

Severus grimaced but said nothing. Their horrible table manners would soon be Black’s problem, he could deal with it as he saw fit. 

Black once again did not answer his Floo. Severus cursed him without even bothering to keep his voice down then took a deep, steadying breath. He needed to get his four guests out of here _fast_ , before any Death Eaters decided to come knocking. He was technically still supposed to be on the Isle of May but he wouldn’t put it past Bellatrix to come snooping through his house, hoping to find something incriminating.

Four Undesirables who were widely believed to be dead certainly counted as _incriminating._

Said Undesirables were too busy eating to notice Severus’ dilemma, thank Merlin. He closed his eyes and went back to the time when he was young, young enough he still had to stand on his toes to reach the stove. His mother was behind him, her hand holding the stirring rod over his, precisely counting the number of times he needed to turn it clockwise in the old cauldron. He could remember the smell as it was done, his mothers pride as she pronounced it perfect. It was the moment when Severus Snape fell in love with potions.

“ _Expecto Patronum,”_ with a whisper a silver doe jumped from his wand, pranced a turn around the sofa, then looked at him expectantly.

“ _Sirius Orion Black,”_ he chanted with a similar circular wand movement, then another flourish at the end that would mask his voice, “You goddamn mutt, get to Number 12 _now._ And answer you fucking Floo, I don’t have much time and this is important.”

His message recorded, the doe leapt up towards the kitchen window, narrowly missing Weasley’s head. The redhead choked on his soup in surprise, which resulted in a violent coughing fit. Granger reached over and smacked him between the shoulder blades, and even Draco had raised his hands in preparation to do… something. Something Severus was not thinking about.

So he ignored the spectacle going on at the table and went to make tea. He found he only had Darjeeling left, so it made the choice rather easy. He filled the kettle to the brim a poked it to boil, then took a can of sugar and the bottle of milk to the table.

By the time he was actually paying attention to them the soup was gone. Severus had purposely made it in the biggest cauldron he had since there were four of them, but he was rather impressed with their speed. There were a few dregs on the bottom of the cauldron but even their bowls looked like they’d been licked clean.

Severus waved his wand to send the dishes to the sink, where they promptly began washing themselves. He set the kettle where the soup had been and the milk and sugar next to it as cups flew from the cupboard. 

He was stalling, he was man enough to admit it to himself. He knew they were brimming with questions, and now that they weren’t showering or stuffing their faces there was nothing stopping them from actually voicing those questions. Severus was very much not looking forward to answering them, but unless Black developed a sense of bloody timing he didn’t have much choice.

He poured himself a cup as well, with a splash of milk. Instead of conjuring another chair for himself he opted to lean against the kitchen counter and sip it slowly. And observe.

His former students were far more careful with tea than they’d been with the soup. Draco poured it elegantly as only someone who was actually trained to do it could, and added two spoons of sugar to it. Weasley and Potter took it with both milk and sugar, and Granger drank it plain.

They sat in uncomfortable silence, not willing to speak freely in Severus’ presence. They all shot Potter meaningful looks, so it was clear who they expected to start the conversation. Severus was rather worried they weren’t doing the same to Draco. He would have thought they would assume he’d be more willing to answer questions if it was a Slytherin asking them. 

But Draco was still disinclined to speak, and Potter was disinclined to start, and the silence was grating on Severus’ mind. He wasn’t Occluding at the moment because he really needed to save his strength, but it was either that or start speaking.

In the end, he gave up with a soft sigh, “I assume you have some questions you’d like me to answer.”

“How long were we gone?” Potter had evidently just been lying in wait for him to ask.

“You were taken in June of 1995,” Severus paused to take a sip, “It is now July, 1999. Your nineteenth birthday is in a week.”

Potter’s jaw clenched and his hands tightened around the teacup, but otherwise he gave no reaction. Granger put a hand on his arm as though to reassure him, but it was rather clear she wasn’t doing any better.

“I assume Volde-”

“Don’t say his name,” Severus cut him off, “There is a Taboo on his name, if it’s spoken out loud by anyone who isn’t a Death Eater, Snatchers will Apparate to this location ready to apprehend whoever they find.”

Potter frowned thunderously but didn’t argue, “I assume he won then?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Severus told him evenly, “The Order of the Phoenix is still operational. Dumbledore is dead, though I assume Draco has informed you of that,” Draco flinched at his words and hung his head, “Considering your ‘friend’ passed on the message to me I’m guessing you’re somehow aware of my position within it.”

They all looked at each other hesitantly, but nodded in the end.

“However you learned of it, you need to tell Moody, so we can patch up the hole in our security before I’m discovered. I assume you’re aware of why that would be a bad thing,” Severus continued, “The Headquarters are still the same, which is where you’ll be going. The Ministry has fallen two years ago, and the Dark Lord is officially the Minister of Magic. On paper, at least. In practice he is setting up a Dictatorship, and since he has the Muggle Prime Minister under Imperius he is intending to expand past just the Wizarding World.”

The looks on their faces were grim, but not surprised. Persephone had probably shown it to them already, or maybe Potter had seen it in his visions, if he still had them. Severus hoped it was the former. If it was the latter there was a high possibility that the Dark Lord was aware of Severus’ betrayal. 

It was better not to think about it right now.

“He is waiting to wrest complete control of our world first, since even he can’t fight a war on two fronts with the numbers he has, so those plans haven’t been put in motion yet, but they are brewing. Hogwarts has been reformed, and only the house of Slytherin remains. There are remarkably fewer students attending nowadays, as you can imagine.”

“Who is the new Headmaster?”

Severus couldn’t help but grimace, “You’re looking at him.”

They were, though ‘staring’ would have been a more appropriate term. He supposed it offended their Gryffindor sensibilities, that Minerva hadn’t inherited the position. But she was too busy leading the Order of the Phoenix in Dumbledore’s stead, and Severus had gotten stuck with the less enviable job. Not that he’d wanted it any more than he’d wanted the teaching position 18 years ago, but just like then, he hadn’t been asked.

However distasteful they found it, they accepted the news at face value. Somewhat ironic, considering who it was coming from but Severus decided against complaining.

“Anything else you wish to know?” he asked when the silence stretched.

“...who have we lost?”

That one had come from Weasley. He’d hung his head over his tea, as if he was bracing himself for an answer. As if he already knew what it was and was just waiting for a name. 

“Theodore Tonks,” Severus started, “Rufus Scrimgeur. Septima Vector. Charity Burbage. Pomona Sprout. Many others, including children… Including Fred Weasley.”

For a moment Weasley didn’t react. He could almost see the other three holding their breaths, looking at Weasley. Severus did as well, bracing himself for the explosion.

It never came.

Weasley took a deep breath, released it in a sob and raised his eyes towards the ceiling. They were red rimmed but dry. He blinked several times and took a sip of his tea. He’d somehow managed to keep his composure in the face of his brother’s death. Severus was actually impressed.

And deeply suspicious.

 _He’d known_.

Fred Weasley had died in battle, in the evacuation of Hogwarts when Voldemort’s decree was put in action. Anyone not in the Slytherin house was to be taken in for questioning, to verify their intentions and bloodlines. Those that were found lacking in either departments were to be sent to Azkaban.

Severus had already been instated as a Headmaster, so he’d had some time to warn as many teachers as he could. Using the secret passages they smuggled the students out of the castle in the middle of the night, many of them still in their pyjamas. Hufflepuff house, whose dormitories were closest to the Slytherin dungeons, had suffered the most casualties. Many of the older students had insisted on staying to fight, hoping to give the younger children a chance to escape.

Fred and George Weasley, along with their remaining brothers and sister, had come back to Hogwarts to help. Fred Weasley had been crushed when a Death Eater had brought a wall down on him. 

He died in Hogwarts, in a lone corridor where Severus had found him after the battle. Dementors had no use for bodies whose souls had already abandoned them, so the news of Fred Weasley’s death had never reached Azkaban.

So how could have Ron Weasley known?

Had Persephone seen it in Severus’ memories and shown it to him? Perhaps a captured student had seen him as well while fleeing, and she had seen their memory of the event? They’d said Persephone was the only one guarding them but she still had to feed, and she clearly wasn’t feeding on them. But that was as far from a happy memory as Severus could imagine, how would she have found it?

Had it really been Persephone who had told him?

The more Severus thought about it, the more he felt it was a train of thought that was unsafe to pursue. Unsafe in the same way that thinking of their surprising health and Draco Malfoy in the same sentence was.

Something was _wrong._

Harry Potter had grown far too observant. Hermione Granger’s eyes were turning amber when the full moon was nowhere in sight. Ron Weasley knew things he shouldn’t. Draco Malfoy raised his hands whenever one of them was unwell.

It felt like a game of connect-the-dots, except if Severus actually solved it he was putting everyone in danger. But he was too smart for his own good and too tired to Occlude, and now his own mind felt like an unsafe space. Something a spy absolutely couldn’t afford. 

Fortunately for him, Black never did develop a sense of timing.

The fire in the hearth turned green and Sirius Black stepped out of it with a deeply annoyed look on his face as he dusted the ash off himself.

“Alright Snivellus, I’m here. Now what the hell was so important I had to-”

He never finished the sentence. Severus’ house was rather small, and the kitchen looked directly into the living room, so when Black finally deigned to look towards the kitchen he was greeted with the sight of his godson, very much alive and drinking tea in Severus Snape’s house.

“I feel this rather adequately answers your question,” Severus told him with a small smirk and took a sip of his tea.

The look on Black’s face was absolutely priceless. Now all he had to say was say ‘you were right’ to Severus with the look of absolute loathing, and it would probably a happy enough memory to cast a Patronus.

“Hi, Sirius,” Potter greeted with a smile that looked almost uncertain, and while he put the teacup down he did not get up to greet his godfather. 

Black had no such compunctions. He picked up his jaw off the floor and marched up to him like nothing in heaven or hell could have stopped him, then hugged Potter to his chest tight enough that Potter probably choked. Or maybe that was Black as well. He looked ready to start blubbering his eyes out.

“Harry… Oh holy Merlin and all the Fates, you’re alive,” Black babbled and held Potter’s face in his hands like an angel had personally delivered him to his arms.

Dear God, Severus was too tired for this shit. If Black wanted to reenact a bloody tragedy reunion he could damn well do it elsewhere.

“Are you quite finished?” Severus drawled, “This house will be swarming with Death Eaters within an hour. Do you really want them to be here when they do?”

They weren’t, of course, but Black didn’t know that. He paled and hurriedly took Potter by his wrist, leading him to the floo. The others followed right behind them at a run. Black threw a whole fistful of Floo power into the fireplace and hurriedly told them the address of to Grimmauld Place when he finally registered Draco.

Before he could so much as open his mouth Potter stopped him with a glare, “He’s with us.”

“But Harry, he’s-”

“ _Was_. He’s with us now, and we’re not leaving him,” Potter’s voice was resolute, for the first time sounding like the actual leader he used to play at.

Black’s mouth clicked shut. 

Severus chuckled.

After that little display Black didn’t waste any more time. He stepped through the Floo first, then Potter pushed Weasley along into stepping in before him. Granger followed him, but not before shooting Potter a smirk. Draco went behind her, for a moment looking back at Severus, but he too stepped into the fireplace without a word. Potter turned to him and smiled.

“Thank you, Professor. For what you’ve done.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You are still in danger, after all.”

“Oh, I know you lied to Sirius,” Potter’s smile turned into a full-on grin, “But I guess we’ll see you soon anyway. Have a good sleep.”

And with those heart stopping words, Potter stepped through the Floo as well, leaving Severus alone. Alone to go to sleep, exactly what he’d been planning to do when he’d scared Black out of his house.

He blinked, unsettled. And then rose his Occlumency shields up so fast he nearly grew dizzy, a defense against anyone from the outside looking in as much as it was a defense against his own thoughts.

Thoughts that were _absolutely_ not safe inside his head.

Moments before he crashed on top of his covers, he thought he should probably get the pensieve from Dumbledore’s old office, and put those suspicions in it. And then lock it inside the strongest vault Gringotts had to offer.

Somehow, not even that seemed safe enough.


	2. John 8:44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. Took me for-fucking-ever to finish and clean this up, but I swear to god I'm still working on this, because for some reason there are people that like this mess and I love them. So here you go!

Severus meditated.

Then he cleared his mind.

Then meditated some more.

There wasn’t much else to do at a meeting like this, anyway.

Amidst the chatter of the high elite allowed at the same table as Voldemort himself, the most interesting noise was, quite frankly, the clinking of silverware.

Honestly, the only things these people talked about was who had more money and status. Their petty squabbles were pointless, as the status was rather clearly indicated by the proximity of their seats to their host, and all of their money mattered only as long as Voldemort allowed them to have it. 

Severus himself was proof of that. Most of those people had jeered and ridiculed and worse, pitied him when they’d been in school together. But now he pretty much owned all of Hogwarts because he’d slain the one man Voldemort wanted dead, and the Dark Lord could prove himself generous on occasion. But the one thing he did not suffer was fools.

It would be equally pointless to actually point that out, so Severus ate and stayed silent. 

Voldemort himself was seated leisurely at the head of the table, Bellatrix filling the first seat on the right side of the table. Next to her was her husband, and one seat further away Fenrir Greyback had decided to forego silverware altogether and was gnawing on a leg of lamb with gusto.

Honestly. At least Lupin had _some_ manners.

Severus ate his roasted quail with the impeccable manners Lucius had taught him when they were at school together, mind drifting away to the potion happily bubbling away in his cellar. The May Mice tails he had gathered almost a fortnight ago had produced an effect that had left Severus doubting his sources, and was better achieved with spinal fluid from a common rat, quite frankly. 

But May Mice _teeth_ had proven to be an ingredient with an unprecedented regeneration aspect. If Severus managed to figure out how to spread the area of effect over the entire body he might just invent a bloody Fountain of Youth. He wondered if the literature that had mentioned May Mice, which amounted to a single book and two measly scrolls, had been deliberately misleading so the true ingredient wouldn’t be discovered by someone who could barely follow a recipe. 

But so far he could only make it affect a specific organ at a time. A rat whose leg he had cut off had grown the bone with one dosage, then veins and arteries, muscles with the next, and then skin and fur with another. That experiment would have to be repeated, but it implied that its power was truly regenerative, rather than restorative. Regrowing, rather than mending, which was something very few ingredients possessed.

Moreover, when Severus tried giving a sip to a healthy rat he had traumatised into anxiety, and after two dosages the rat was no longer afraid of him. So it also had an effect on the mind, not just the body. That would have to be explored further. Just how much of the original body would have to be missing before it was no longer effective? And when Severus found that limit, how could he push against it? So far May Mice livers had proven to have a similar effect, but-

“What a wonderful mind you have, Severus.”

The only indication Severus gave that he was startled was that he stopped chewing. Directly to his right, Voldemort had his chin in his hand and he was looking somewhere between intrigued and fond. Severus felt a spike of embarrassment, though he gave no outward reaction.

“Now, now, no need to feel embarrassed. Your mind is by far the most interesting thing in this entire room, I couldn’t help but take a peek,” Voldemort smirked and leaned towards Severus a little more, “And perhaps your little experiment would benefit from the meeting of two brilliant minds.”

Across from Severus, Bellatrix seethed. Voldemort had rather unceremoniously abandoned the conversation she’d been trying to pull him into, and her jealousy was making her positively green.

And that was _alllll_ the motivation Severus needed to gleefully explain the experiments he’d been running since he got back from the Isle of May two weeks ago. The Dark Lord listened attentively and occasionally asked insightful questions, gave a few suggestions and theories and even offered to have someone track down an old treatise that went into the properties of animals isolated on magical lands.

That conversation rather abruptly reminded him just why he’d been so easily seduced into falling in with the Death Eaters.

It also brought to light the reason Voldemort was so easily persuaded into taking in a poor Halfblood after a single conversation.

The Dark Lord was bloody _bored._ Narcissa had reliably informed him that most high society dinners didn’t get any more interesting than this, and if Severus was bored before the second entree had touched the table he had no idea how Voldemort had tolerated it for years. To find someone who could talk about more than the size of their bank vault and the scope of their influence must have been like finding an actual human being amidst the jungle full of apes.

Considering how long he’d been a teacher, Severus was painfully familiar with that feeling. Children were idiots at the best of times, and at worst they were Potter and his merry band of Gryffindors, setting his cloak on fire, stealing his ingredients, knocking him out in front of a convicted murderer and generally finding new ways to give him migraines. If they hadn’t been removed when they were Severus’ hair would probably be whiter than Lucius’.

Voldemort let out a quiet laugh behind his knuckles, so he probably heard that. Bellatrix perked up at the sound but when she noticed her Lord was looking in the opposite direction from her the silver fork bent in her hand. If she could cast the Killing Curse with just her eyes, Severus would have been dead before the main course.

He hid an amused smile behind a sip of Elven Wine. Life was all about simple pleasures, and pushing Bellatrix’s buttons was one of Severus’ favourites.

“I feel like I should warn you that you’re playing with Fiendfyre,” Voldemort told him in a whisper, but his red eyes spelled amusement.

“Well that’s certainly nothing new then,” Severus lowered his glass to reveal his smirk, “I would be a rather poor servant to my Lord if I were afraid of wielding power. It simply requires adequate _control._ ”

Bellatrix’s glass cracked. She hadn’t been holding it.

Both Rodolphus and Greyback looked at her with worried expressions, which forced her to either compose herself or leave with an excuse. After a few seconds she chose the latter, not even bothering with the excuse before she stomped away in a huff. The rest of the table fell into a hush as they watched her leave.

The silence was broken by Voldemort chuckling.

“Oh, Severus, I’ve almost forgotten how fun you can be.”

“I live to serve, My Lord.”

Dinner went by almost pleasantly after that. At one point Nagini had slithered into Voldemort’s lap and he turned to converse with her. Severus had turned to his left to engage Lucius in conversation, and by the time the dessert was finished Voldemort rose to give a short speech and announce the meal over. 

Severus lingered for a moment to thank the Dark Lord for his insights into Severus’ research, and then went home.

Spinner’s End was as lonely and desolate as ever, just as Severus liked it. That was one of the reasons Severus kept it even now that he could afford a much bigger house. But he knew damn well that if he had a bigger house or, heaven forbid, a mansion he would need house elves to keep it, and he would be obligated to host parties and actually interact with people. Fuck no. The house barely resembled the one he grew up in, at least on the inside, and Severus was perfectly happy living practically alone in the whole street, except the elderly Mrs. Fisher a few houses down, and no self-respecting aristocrat would be caught dead setting foot anywhere near it. So Severus was left alone with his books and his lab, exactly as he liked it.

Of course, when he explained that to Lucius the man had looked at him like he was mad. But he did accept it, despite his lack of understanding, with remarkable serenity. It was one of Lucius’ best qualities.

As he did every time he returned, he made himself a cup of tea and sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace. A quick _Incendio_ later and the fire roared bright and warm. The tea was almost too hot to drink so Severus warmed his fingers on it and let the smell relax his muscles and his mind.

Slowly, the Occlumency shields went down, and the memories Severus had suppressed to the depths even Voldemort couldn’t reach rose to the surface once more.

So. The Dark Lord was still unaware one of his treasures was missing.

Persephone’s doing, no doubt. Weasley said she was the only one guarding them, if she kept going up and down on a regular schedule it could be months before anybody suspected something was wrong. And the longer it took them to notice the less suspicion would be cast on Severus. He wasn’t even supposed to know where Azkaban actually _was_ , and certainly not that Potter was there. And if any suspicion was cast on him, it would most certainly come from Bellatrix, and Severus had carefully been cultivating the conviction that such an accusation could have only come from jealousy.

Unless Persephone herself told them who took the prisoners away, Severus was safe. A little disconcerted that he was putting such faith in a bloody Dementor of all things, but safe. She wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble to get them out just to have them thrown back in if Voldemort forced Severus to tell him where they were.

But the farce couldn’t go on forever. Eventually Voldemort was going to send Greyback to Azkaban, and along the way tell him to check on the prisoners. And when he found an empty cell, things were going to get ugly. 

Severus had never found out why, but the Dark Lord wanted Harry Potter, and he wanted him _alive._ Quite possibly, he also wanted him sane, as he’d been imprisoned with his friends and given to an unusual Dementor to guard. 

How much sanity Potter had going in was debatable, but whatever he did have remained largely undamaged.

But that meant that the question that had been giving both Minerva and Severus ulcers was still unanswered: what did Voldemort _want_ with Harry Potter? And did Potter know what it was?

Severus hadn’t heard from the Order since Black spirited them away. He couldn’t decide whether that was good news or very, very bad news. But from where he sat on the other side, no news of the Order was usually good news. 

Usually.

Paranoia was a professional deformation for a spy.

And there was also the minor problem of those bloody _Horcruxes…_

The Locket was found in Kreacher’s possession. Severus had found the Diadem in Hogwarts and sent it to Grimmauld Place along with the sword of Gryffindor, which had destroyed them both. Black had exercised his rights of inheritance to collect the Cup from Bellatrix’s vault. Harry Potter had destroyed the Diary. Dumbledore had taken care of the Ring, something which he’d insisted on doing with utmost care. 

Which is to say, only damaged it instead of destroyed.

With a sigh, Severus got up and went to the mantelpiece. Placed next to the Dark Curio that would draw the attention away from it, lay a simple wooden box. Severus flipped the latch on it and as soon as the lid was open, the little golden ball rose.

The Snitch Harry Potter had caught in his first game of Quidditch.

The one that held the Ring.

Bloody Hell, he tired of the old bastard’s games…

Dumbledore had been willing to die to have that ring, but was unwilling to destroy it outright to actually remove the Horcrux. Even as his flesh was rotting off his hand he refused to do it. Somehow, some way, that ring was more valuable whole than it was destroyed, but Dumbledore had never allowed Severus a good look at it. By the time Severus actually held it in his hand it was already encased by the Snitch.

And then he’d died, leaving Severus with it and a nonsensical mission to find a dead boy and give him his first toy. Like that was the most important task Severus could be doing.

The Snitch itself rather failed to live up to its name. If Severus held it flat on his palm it unfurled its wings but never flew more than a few inches from his hand. Of course it didn’t. It had already been caught, and unless Severus wiped the touch-memory and captured it himself it would view him as an impartial judge. Someone whose duty was to give it to the winner.

Because that was what he was. Not a winner, and failing to fill the shoes of the actual judge.

Not for the first time, Severus wondered just what Dumbledore wanted with him. To remain a pawn forever? Or take his place as the chess player?

Not that he would ever get an answer. The old fool was dead, and with his portrait locked out of Severus’ reach, he’d taken his secrets to his grave. Severus would never get the chance to ask his questions now. Not until the day of his own death.

He put the Snitch back in the box.

_Five down._

Five down and, according to Slughorn’s memory given right before his death, two more to go.

The problem was, they were out of leads. Even though Voldemort had made it easier for them by choosing items of importance and sentimentality, there wasn’t much that matched that description. Artefacts of the founders and meaningful possessions from his previous life. But the list of such items, the ones Voldemort valued enough to entrust them with his soul, was rather short. Short enough that they had already gone through the entire list of possibilities, and came up empty. 

They were at a stalemate. They didn’t know where else to look for Horcruxes, Voldemort didn’t know where to look for the Order.

But he would most certainly redouble his efforts once he found out Harry Potter was missing. Of all the things Voldemort valued, Harry Potter was high on that list, perhaps as high as Nagini. If living creatures could become Horcruxes they would be-

_Wait._

Severus choked on his tea.

_Why couldn’t they?_

The boy that had defeated him and had become a poster boy of the resistance because of it, now squirreled away in an almost unreachable hiding place. The familiar only he could speak to, that never left his side and displayed unswerving loyalty.

It fit into the pattern _perfectly._

Potter’s visions. How he described seeing events from Nagini’s eyes. Dumbledore had said it was because they shared a ‘special connection’. 

Could he have meant a connection of souls?

Could a living being become a Horcrux?

_Bloody Hell…_

Severus put the teacup on the table so hard he almost shattered it and all but ran towards the fireplace. 

It was only a suspicion. Two dots accidentally connected. But Severus’ worst suspicions had proven correct on far too many occasions to ignore them. He could not afford not to act on them.

He wasn’t even sure the spell to detect soul pieces would work on a living human. If Potter’s own soul gave a false positive result they would be forced to-

_Give it to him, when he goes to face his death._

Dumbledore had known.

For a Horcrux to be destroyed, the vessel holding it had to be destroyed _beyond repair._ In case of a living being, they would have to die. If Potter was really a Horcrux, then that meant-

Dumbledore had intended for Harry Potter to die.

Severus had killed him, and buried his regret deep. But now, his only regret was that he hadn’t killed the bastard hard enough.

Just before he stepped into the flames he jerked back so hard he nearly brained himself on the mantelpiece trying to get the box that contained the Snitch. He did twist his ankle doing it but he managed to get the box and himself through the fireplace.

He found Black and Minerva in the sitting room, each with a tumbler of Scotch in their hands, obviously in the middle of a heavy conversation. They spilled it everywhere when Severus stepped through the Floo, urgent and wild-eyed in a way that was far too similar to his first encounter with Persephone.

“Where’s Potter?” he asked breathlessly.

“Severus, what in the world-”

“This is bloody important, Minerva! Where is he?!” 

“Upstairs,” it was Black who answered, looking like the words had escaped him against his better judgement, “Left corridor.”

Severus didn’t quite run up the stairs, but he took three at a time. The box was clutched in his fingers like his paternal grandmother held her rosary, the symbol of divinity she held onto for hope.

_A treasured possession, full of meaning, hidden away where no one could find it._

The hope was in vain.

Potter must have heard him coming because he was already standing in the hall with his arms crossed and an impassive look on his face. Draco and Weasley were standing farther down the corridor, peering from the bedroom door in worry.

“Potter…” Severus started, but lost his voice. How the actual fuck was he supposed to explain this to Potter? That he may have a piece of Voldemort’s soul in him, and that they would likely have to kill him to get it out?

“I see you’ve figured it out,” Potter said blithely. Then smiled. “I guess Ron won the bet then.”

“What?”

“We were betting on how long it would take you to figure it out,” Granger’s voice came behind him, and Severus absolutely did not jump, even if a werewolf had managed to sneak up on him, “I had a bet you’d figure it out two weeks after breakout. You’ve actually managed it a day early, so Ron was the closest.”

For the first time in his life, Severus felt like his brain wasn’t computing.

_They’d known?_

“Severus!” Minerva barked at him from the staircase, “Explain yourself, immediately! What is going on?!”

Minerva’s teaching voice always did wonders for kicking lagging brains into focus.

“Call an Order meeting,” Severus told her, “Everyone you can get. Now.”

“Why?” Black asked, and his face clearly said he was dreading the answer.

“He’s figured out what the last two of Voldemort’s Horcruxes are,” Potter told them but he was looking at Severus like he was the greatest entertainment he’d seen in his life. 

Severus resolutely did not think where he’d seen a similar expression recently.

He was still not thinking about it half an hour later, when he was sitting in the out-of-the-way armchair, twirling the box in his hand. The enormous sitting room was once again flooded with Weasley red. But even through his Occlumency shields he noticed that one Ronald Weasley was sitting on the couch with his cellmates rather than with his family.

Potter sat in the middle, next to Draco, his mood having taken a nosedive when people started crowding into the room. Severus’ godson had an arm around Potter’s shoulders as if to steady him through the ordeal. The ordeal of admitting he was a Horcrux, and as such carried a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul in him.

At least, Severus assumed that was the ordeal he was going through.

Severus twirled the box in his fingers. Round and round and round. He did not think about Dumbledore asking him to kill him. He did not think about the possibility that, if Potter hadn’t been taken, he might have been ordered to do the same to the boy.

Round and round and round.

He did not wonder if the Snitch itself had been exactly that order.

“Persephone discovered it,” Potter was saying with a strange grimace on his face. Severus got the feeling he had a headache, “Yeah, the Dementor guarding us. She said she could taste a soul in me that wasn’t mine, and that she was told she wasn’t allowed to touch it, we figured it out from there. Yes, she fed on us, but there were four of us and she was the only one, it didn’t hurt us too much.”

Black let out a pained whine that sounded more canine than human. Minerva looked like she’d been carved from stone. Molly Weasley fretted again. Arthur looked ill. Lupin was clutching Tonks’ hand. Alastor Moody was looking at Potter with his magical eye like he was expecting to see the Horcrux within it, even though experience had proven he couldn’t.

Severus sat there and did not wonder how did Potter know to answer questions that hadn’t even been asked.

Round and round and round.

Something was _wrong._

But he’d known something was wrong since the moment he’d stepped into the bowels of Azkaban, only now it had gotten far too obvious for Severus to ignore. But ignore it he must, because those thoughts were still not safe in his head. Voldemort felt he had a free tour pass through every single thought Severus had ever had, and he delighted in seeking out the most intriguing ones. If he felt Severus’ curiosity attached to any particular memory, he went towards it like a bull towards a red cape.

If Severus proved to be correct, he could doom them all.

But if he was right and did not voice it, they would be doomed anyway.

Damned either way, which could accurately describe just about the entirety of Severus’ existence.

Round and round and round.

Harry Potter had to die.

Was there a particular meaning in the method? Dumbledore had been fond of the boy, that much Severus knew with certainty. Even when the boy had been chosen for the Triwizard tournament, he’d pulled every subtle string he had to give the boy an advantage. Having Filius teach Summoning Charms early. Hinting to Severus to order the Gillyweed. Rewriting the Defence curriculum so Moody would show him all the necessary spells in time.

Dumbledore was always either about grand gestures, or manipulations so subtle they were mostly written off as luck. The old wizard probably didn’t have any notion there could be something between those two extremes.

Like bloody well tell Severus what he wanted him to do. 

Round and round and round.

Hints. Manipulations. Plans that came to light only when they had already unravelled. Having the game play itself even when he wasn’t there to move to pieces anymore.

The Snitch. It was a move set in motion, but Severus had no idea where it was headed. Was it supposed to kill Potter or help him avoid death? Would Severus help him by giving it to him or damn him? 

If it was the latter, could he bear to have the blood of Lily’s son on his hands?

Round and round and round.

Did he really trust Dumbledore?

“Is that for me?” Potter’s voice cut through his musings. Severus glanced up at him without moving his head, his fingers going still around the box. Potter was looking at him with a wry grimace he was trying to pass off as a smile.

“I see your arrogance has not diminished in the slightest,” Severus told him in the driest voice he could manage, “But, in this instance at least, you are indeed correct.”

Trust. What a ridiculous concept. It was never about trust, and Dumbledore must have known that, since he’d stressed the importance of the stone without letting Severus see it. Then handed it to Severus, to find the only person who could open it. He didn’t need to trust Severus to know he would fulfil his wishes.

He’d known, possibly from the moment Severus had sat under the Sorting Hat, that it wasn’t _trust_ that compelled Severus. 

He really had some large shoes to fill, damn the bastard.

Severus tossed the box to Potter. The boy caught it one handed as if he’d never stopped playing Quidditch and looked at it curiously. Then he looked back at Severus with intent.

Harry Potter was a Horcrux of the Dark Lord.

Voldemort was the greatest Legillimens of the century.

Severus Occluded like he was standing before the Dark Lord himself.

Potter’s only reaction was to blink and tilt his head. Then his attention returned to the little box. Upon opening the Snitch shot up in the air, but didn’t make it ten inches away from the boy.

Potter snatched it out of the air.

Severus held his breath. He waited for the Snitch to recognise the touch of its captor, to reveal the treasure it carried and finally give Severus answers.

But...

Nothing happened.

“What’s it for?” Potter asked, still looking at the Snitch. Its tiny wings were leisurely flapping in his hand, as if to say it hadn’t intended to go anywhere anyway.

“That’s for you to find out,” Severus said, “Dumbledore gave it to me days before his death,” _before Severus killed him,_ “and all he said about it is that I’m supposed to give it to you should I find you alive. I assume our… current situation was the reason for it.”

“What’s so special about a Snitch?” Granger asked.

“It is, supposedly, the Snitch Potter caught in his first Quidditch game. I had assumed its flesh-memory would activate at your touch and it would open. It’s rather curious that it didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you give it to me when you sprung us out of Azkaban?” Potter asked suspiciously, ignoring Black’s startled inhale, “I know you didn’t _forget._ ”

“You _would_ know, wouldn’t you?” Severus glared at him accusingly, his shields not dropping an inch, “Because Dumbledore told me to give it to you when you went off to die. It is rather obvious what he meant, now.”

Amidst the startled gasps and exclamations of outrage, both at Severus and Dumbledore, Potter was still looking at him like he wanted to burrow into Severus’ brain and roost there.

Severus smirked maliciously. He’d like to see the boy try.

“It is out of my hands now,” Severus rose quietly and went into the hall, “I trust you to figure it out, either with Granger’s help or through sheer dumb luck. You can place bets on which it will be.”

He didn’t look back as he left the Order behind. 

Perhaps he should have. He would never know.

* * *

Voldemort found out, of course.

Almost a month passed. Greyback went to Azkaban and returned completely white faced. He barged into the hall of the Dark Lord’s mansion in the middle of a meeting he was late to, proclaiming he had urgent news. That Voldemort’s ‘prized pets’ were missing, and their guardian was nowhere to be found. 

Voldemort went very, very still.

Severus, all relevant memories behind Occlumency shields as thick as he could make them, felt only confusion. His first thought was that Nagini had laid eggs, and some poor idiot in charge of caring for them had thought he could get away with selling them off without Voldemort noticing. Anyone stupid enough to do that probably deserved whatever was coming to them.

“How long?” Voldemort asked, his voice deceptively calm. 

“At least a few days,” Fenrir said through gritted teeth, “Possibly longer. The King said he’d seen the guard yesterday, but their scent is too weak for that.”

Bellatrix gasped in understanding, her hand actually coming up to her mouth. Both Severus and Narcissa turned to her in confusion, but she was looking at Voldemort in horror. 

She was visibly afraid. Of Voldemort.

Severus realized it wasn’t about Nagini’s eggs. This was far more serious. But what else would have Greyback meant by ‘prized pets’-?

_Harry Potter._

Next to him, he could see the moment Lucius figured it out too. The man went as pale as his hair when he realized that someone had stolen Potter, Voldemort’s war prize. Next to Lucius, Narcissa still wore an expression of confusion but her shoulders were tense and she radiated fear. She might not have realized what that meant, but she knew enough to be afraid.

And she was right to be.

Voldemort rose slowly from his seat.

And all Hell broke loose.

Rookwood and Gibbon were killed outright with an entrails-ripping curse. Mulciber was left paralyzed from the waist down. Greyback lost an eye. Pettigrew lost the other hand. Amycus Carrow was missing half his face. His sister was missing the other half. Bellatrix’s hair was now barely longer than Severus’. Narcissa’s was in a similar state, but both of them were relatively unharmed. 

Severus himself had a nasty looking, but not very deep, cut from the bridge of his nose, over his left cheekbone and disappearing into his hair, which was missing a lock. It would scar, as the curse had been Dark, but with Dittany it would be minimal. Lucius had suffered worse, but Narcissa had slowed down the bleeding until Severus’ hands had stopped shaking enough to cast _Vulnera Sanentur_. It would scar as well, but he would live.

And all that had been only after each and every single one had been subjected to copious amounts of Cruciatus. It appeared that the Deathstick Voldemort had stolen from Dumbledore’s grave was capable of casting it on multiple people at once.

Severus’ hands were still shaking. 

He hid them under the table, not daring to look up. Bellatrix was in a similar state, across from him. Lucius was flushed with pain. While no longer fatal, his wounds still hurt, but his pride rendered him mute. Pettigrew was whimpering pathetically, clutching his stump with his other, artificial hand. Greyback had a hand pressed to his ruptured eye, but his expression was otherwise stony, not revealing his pain. Narcissa was sitting next to Bellatrix, and Severus had a feeling she was holding her sister’s hand. The only other person at the table was Scabior, the leader of Snatchers. Severus couldn’t see his injuries from his position but he looked ready to pass out.

They were the only ones left. All the others had fled or died.

At the head of the table, Voldemort watched. His face was a terrifying rictus of rage, held in check only by his dwindling self-control.

“You are here,” he shot each of them a pointed look, “Because you are the ones who know precisely what this is about. And you each have either knowledge, motive or opportunity you could have used, to commit this grievous crime against Lord Voldemort.”

“My Lord!” Bellatrix’s head shot up in horror, “Surely you cannot think that I would-”

She was writhing under _Crucio_ once again, but this time Voldemort was either merciful or impatient, because he only held it for three seconds. He left her gasping on the table top, Narcissa holding onto her shoulder discreetly.

“Each of you,” Voldemort continued, “either knew the location of Harry Potter’s imprisonment,” he eyed Scabior and Greyback, “had the motive to break him and his little friends out,” Voldemort’s red eyes lingered on Narcissa, then slid to Pettigrew, “or had the opportunity to do so,” he finally looked at Bellatrix and Severus.

As discreetly as possible, Severus tried to cast his mind back through his memories, trying to figure out what sort of ‘opportunity’ he and _Bellatrix_ of all people could have had. He’d been riling her up recently, mostly because it was amusing to watch her seethe, but they didn’t exactly plan tea parties at each other’s houses. The last time he and Bellatrix had been together somewhere was-

_Azkaban._

Harry Potter had been in Azkaban. It was the only explanation.

And so was Draco Malfoy. If either Lucius or Narcissa had known that, it was no wonder they were on the suspect list.

“They were helped,” Voldemort continued, now looking at Severus, “possibly by one of you. I intend to find out.”

He didn’t give an explanation how. 

Severus could imagine he saw the redness of Voldemort’s eyes pulled him in, and he fell into the depths of his past.

Flashes of memories burned his eyes like an _Incendio_ thrown into his eyes. His life flashed in reverse, every moment, every second a needle stabbing straight into his brain, and if Severus could have he would have screamed and writhed and begged to _stopstopSTOP_

It lasted an eternity and a second. 

Once he was done, he moved on to Lucius. Severus was left gasping, feeling at once skinned raw and hopelessly dirtied. It was unlike the Dark Lord’s subtle forays into his mind, light brushes to the thoughts Severus was thinking at the moment anyway.

This… Severus felt sick.

So did Lucius, apparently. The moment Voldemort moved away from him, he turned to the side of the chair and upchucked his lunch, at least whatever hadn’t been torn out of him in the Dark Lord’s previous rage. Severus moved to vanish the mess, but his hands shook far too much and he couldn’t force his hand to cooperate. By the time Voldemort had moved on from Greyback to Pettigrew, he’d given up on the attempts.

Bellatrix had to hold Narcissa by the shoulders as he did the same to her. She shook and cried, but no tears came from her eyes. Lucius retched again, but nothing came up. Severus looked away.

They were all a mess by the time Voldemort was done.

They held their breaths, waiting for the verdict. Voldemort stood at the head of the table once again, his expression like a storm held at bay by a flimsy window. He glared at them all, but did not raise his wand again. When he spoke it was a thin whisper.

“Get out.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

“Go home, Severus,” Narcissa had whispered to him as they put Lucius’ passed out form on the bed. 

He wanted to stay as much as he wanted to run. But Narcissa had looked at him with her wide eyes and shorn hair, and silently begged him to get out while he still could.

He couldn’t, of course, not with a leash tattooed on his forearm, but the illusion of safety that a home offered was more important right now than the truth.

Severus went home.

He spilled half the bowl of Floo powder, his hands were shaking so much, and his head hurt so badly he couldn’t see straight, but he did get it active and managed to say ‘Spinner’s End’ without stuttering. The fiery whirlwind carried him off from the Malfoy Manor and spit him out in his house. As with every form of wizarding transport, the journey ended abruptly, and Severus had already made his peace with the fact that he was going to land straight on his face.

So it came as a surprise when someone _caught him._

He looked up to confirm who it was, but he had a feeling he knew well before he actually saw. In truth, he knew from the moment he smelled rot and decay.

Grey eyes she shouldn’t even have, on a grey, sunken face. Severus was somehow unsurprised that she’d decided to come here.

“I can’t help you,” Severus gasped out. He felt more than saw a bony arm wrap around his back, dragging him away from the fireplace. She was cold, and sharp in more ways than merely the physical. It felt like he was leaning on the flat side of the blade of ice, but he couldn’t push back because it was his only support.

Then she deposited him on the couch, and the cold abated but didn’t disappear. Severus wondered if he was shivering because of it or because of the torture.

“I can’t help you,” he repeated in a whisper. For some reason it was important that he tell her this, that she understood that Severus had nothing in him left to give. Not even to her.

_B̤̹͚́ͯ̂ͨ́́͒ü͎̫̳̩̫̥͕t͕͇̬͔ͬͥ͒͌̊ͪ̚ ͔̖̜̝̘̬͂͌̎ͅẃ͍̖͚̘̰͈e ̞̣̼̯̯c͌ͬ͛͐àn͍̲̳̠̏̈́ͭͣ͌ ͔̥͒͋̒̐̈h̟͉̮ͮͯe͉̯̼̠͎l̦̜̪p͈̦̮̟ͪ ̯̗̝̎ỷ͖̅ͤ̆̄ͦo̳̦͈̙̗̎̾̓̿̉̍u͌̎̋̉̽._

Severus felt those words come into his consciousness without beginning or end, clear yet echoing. Like that vision she showed him, they were suddenly just… _there._ Severus looked up hesitantly, wondering what she meant.

But the moment he opened his mouth to ask his sight became black and he could taste death on his tongue. It felt like tendrils of darkness reached through his throat for something in his chest, prodded, then _scraped_. It didn’t hurt, not quite, mostly because it wasn’t a physical sensation. Later, when Severus was of a clearer mind, the closest feeling he could compare it to was hitting the ulnar nerve in his elbow, except the feeling was _in his chest._

And then it was over, and he could breathe.

His vision returned slowly, in spots, in between gulping breaths. When it finally came back it was to a steaming cup of tea. Floating in front of him. Severus accepted it mutely, noticing with some surprise that his hands were no longer shaking even though he was all but freezing.

The moment that thought crossed his mind he felt a blanket drop over his shoulders. He looked up at Persephone to see that she was still in front of him, perfectly still except the gentle undulations of her tattered robes. She had her hands clasped in front of her and her veiled head bowed, watching over him.

For a moment, Severus thought she looked like a desecrated statue of the Virgin Mary. A rather fitting patron saint for someone like him.

“What did you just do to me?” Severus asked. Rather redundant, it was, since it was painfully obvious what just happened.

_The Dementor’s Kiss._ A fate worse than death, your soul forcibly taken from you, and then _digested_ over a period of time, and your body left an empty shell. Still breathing, still functioning, but no one home to make it mind.

Which begged the question of _how was Severus still alive?_

_We apologise,_ the words brushed across his mind, quieter than a whisper yet perfectly clear, the terrifying echo gone, _We have not taken your soul, merely cut away the trauma from its fringes. It is the only way we could stop the decay from overtaking it entirely._

“So,” Severus swallowed, “You’re saying that you’ve only eaten a _part_ of my soul?” 

_...Yes._

Severus took a deep breath, and then decided he might as well drink his tea since he was already holding it _._ He felt strangely calm, considering what he’d just been told. It rather felt like being under the effect of the Draught of Peace. Intellectually, he knew he should be panicking, that there was an extremely good reason to panic right now, but it sounded far too exhausting. So even though there was a dangerous predator right before him a nap sounded much more appealing than running for his life.

Well. Potter and his lot survived four years in her care. Hopefully he would survive a night.

Severus heaved a sigh and pulled the blanket around himself a bit tighter. He was still cold but he felt too tired to even shiver. He could vaguely remember that was a bad thing, but he was too tired to even mind that.

_You need a rest,_ he was suddenly lying on his side with the softest pillow in existence beneath his head, and someone was taking off his shoes, _The world will still be turning when you wake up._

The words were as comforting as they were ominous, but they did the trick.

Severus Snape fell asleep.

He was only mildly surprised that he woke up again.

He was a lot more surprised at what he woke up _to._

The pillow was definitely not one he owned, unless he’d somehow nicked it from the Malfoy Manor and forgotten about it. There were at least three different blankets covering him to the point of overheating, but the softness of the sofa beneath him was too alluring to abandon. Severus could not remember being this comfortable in his entire life.

In the end, he had to open his eyes and look around just to confirm he was still at Spinner’s End. 

He was, though the house had probably not looked like this since the day it was first built. Everything was clean and gleaming, the lights were brighter than ever and even the paint on the walls seemed fresher. Nothing Severus didn’t already own appeared, but everything he did have was somehow… improved.

And the culprit was currently in his kitchen, waving her hands around like a conductor of the grand orchestra, simultaneously cooking something in four different pots, chopping vegetables on the counter and mixing something else altogether in the two bowls placidly floating around the kitchen.

The sight of a soul-devouring monster so happily playing homemaker created such a cognitive dissonance in Severus’ brain that, for a moment, he wondered if he was dead after all, and his soul was currently churning in her stomach.

But if this was the fate that awaited those that received the Dementor’s Kiss, he pitied them far less than he did the people still living in the real world.

“Having fun?” he asked sarcastically after watching her for a few minutes.

_Yes, very much,_ there was no voice to deliver those words to his mind, but Severus could tell with utmost certainty that she was sincere, We/I̴̢ ͘am/̸h̨͟͏ą̴v̢e͠ _not been ąll͞ow/e̕d to do any such actions in the/at H̵͟͢ǫ͞m̷̢̛͞e̶͜͝. Nosoul of us arȩ/̢we̷re͢. H͚i̢͇gh̳̙̫̪ ͉K̬̩͘i̢̬̘̤̘̻̳n̬g̵͓̜ne͜s͡s̬͜ d͜i͏d͟n̵’t/d̵o͜esn’̡t͘ ͞all̴o̷w/e͡d us._

The strange speech nearly gave him whiplash, and it took him a moment to figure out _why_ it was so strange: she wasn’t using words to speak, but taking the meaning of them from his own head and pressing them back into his mind, leaving him to try and form sentences from them. If she did it too quickly the sentences got muddled.

_Apologies, we were overly excited,_ more words came, this time without the echo, _We weren’t allowed to do any of this at Home, so we became… carried away._

‘Carried away’ was putting it rather mildly, considering his house barely looked like his house anymore, but Severus couldn’t muster up the wherewithal to complain, or even think about it past the horrifying realisation that by ‘home’ she meant Azkaban. Instead he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to gather his wits, “How long was I out?”

_You had three dream cycles._

“I meant in hours.”

_...the clock chimed twenty one times._

If she meant the old grandfather clock on the sitting room wall, that was ten and a half hours. Severus hadn’t slept that long in years. Probably since the first time he’d been a spy for the Order.

Whatever Persephone was cooking smelled… odd, but intriguing. Severus reckoned it was going to at least be edible, and he was hungry enough that whatever she set in front of him was probably going to get eaten. As soon as she heard those thoughts cross his mind she sent a plate of _something_ flying towards the table. A spoon joined it a moment later.

Having a curious Dementor in the house turned out to be a lot like having a house elf. Who knew.

Severus silently ate what he assumed to be some sort of stew, though it tasted nothing like any stew he had tried in his life, and there was meat in it that he had no idea where it came from, so he tried very hard not to think about what was in it. Persephone glided around the kitchen but otherwise didn’t bother him while he ate, leaving him to his thoughts.

Thoughts which inevitably turned to the fact that he had a soul-eater in his kitchen. Not even Severus’ Occlumency shields were thick enough to ignore that.

_We could not find them,_ she told him, in response to the question he hadn’t even asked yet, _Human magic hides them, and we could not find their souls. But we saw your home in your mind, the day you first came before us, and we knew to come here to ask you. We did not expect to find you so hurt._

Ah yes, yet another thing he was trying not to think about. 

He couldn’t remember what happened in between Greyback delivering the damning news and helping Narcissa carry Lucius away. He _knew_ what happened, but only from his own memories of thinking about it. It felt like he had been watching it happen to someone else, seeing their torment and sympathising, but not feeling it for himself.

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but…” Severus faltered. No, actually, he was _absolutely_ afraid of asking about what she did.

Persephone picked up on it, of course, but _she_ had no reason to hesitate.

_A human soul is the quintessence of its owner,_ an explanation came to him, somehow sounding as dry as a textbook, _It is a form of energy, and just as any energy in existence, it can be shaped. Turned into a force and given direction. And the conduit for that energy is experience. The mould that gives it shape is memories. What you experienced was very damaging to your soul, but it happened very recently, so the damage was only in the periphery. We cut away and devoured the damaged edges before it can spread to the core. The missing memories are a side effect. A mould with nothing filling it. It is also why we can speak to you without touching you. We know/understand/see/comprehend your soul now, we know the frequency of its... Oh, you do not know a word for it. This is very limiting._

Severus just barely choked his hysterical laughter back. Somewhat nonsensically, he thought he should probably write that down. Possibly write a paper about it. The study of souls and related magicks was one of the least researched fields of study, mostly because tampering with one’s soul was considered a Dark art on par with Necromancy. But here was a Dementor, likely the highest authority in the field, freely offering knowledge no human had discovered so far. The Dark Lord would be extremely pleased with Severus if he managed to-

Ah, right. He wouldn’t be pleased with _anything_ for a while. 

So Severus just sighed and ate his stew. He wondered just what the Hell was he supposed to _do_ with her? She was looking for Potter and his lot, but Severus could just imagine the look on Black’s face if Severus sent a Dementor to Grimmauld Place. Just revenge though it may be, for siccing Lupin on him in the Shrieking Shack, the Order needed him to be functional. Fat chance of that happening with a Dementor hovering around him after twelve years in Azkaban.

Of course, the alternative was that she stay here, which was also not a good idea, even not taking Severus’ peace of mind into consideration. The Dark Lord already suspected he had been involved in Potter’s escape, it wouldn’t be hard to remember which particular Dementor had cornered him and not-Kissed him.

Severus shuddered. If Voldemort had gone even a few days further into Severus’ memory, that meeting would have ended even worse than it already did.

_We saw the M̡in̛d͡r͡e͢a̷pe̸r you fear,_ Persephone said as she set another plate before him, _His is a soul that a piece of resides in the soul of Potter. Now, we have no King to forbid us. We can take it out._

Severus’ head snapped up. “You mean you can take the Horcrux out? Without killing him?”

_Yes. We will sew the wound on his soul after as well, so the damage of removing it will not remain._

Well fuck. Whether Black liked it or not, he was going to have to house a Dementor. They had to bring her to Potter to have her remove the Horcrux, but they couldn’t take Potter out of Grimmauld Place, especially not now that Voldemort knew he was gone. If Potter left the wards he would doom them all.

In fact, Severus was surprised he himself wasn’t doomed already. If Potter was still a Horcrux that meant the mental connection between him and Voldemort was still intact. With the boy’s abysmal Occlumency skills it was a miracle the Dark Lord hadn’t already extracted the truth about Severus’ loyalties.

_They have not told you,_ Persephone turned to him. Severus could tell it wasn’t a question, merely a confused observation.

“Tell me what?”

_We suppose it was to spare you of guarding it from the M̡in̛d͡r͡e͢a̷pe̸r,_ Persephone continued as though she wasn’t speaking to him at all, _their magics are rare, we are told, and the M̡in̛d͡r͡e͢a̷pe̸r would seek to use them for his own gain._

“...I understand.”

_But you do not like it._

“That’s an understatement,” Severus bit out, “You’re saying they are hiding some kind of crucial information from me, and they’re doing it because if the Dark Lord found out about it he wouldn’t just send them to Azkaban, he would probably turn them into his puppets.”

_Potter cannot be controlled, and he would not let D͠r̡a̷coG̴ra̕n͜g̡ęrWea̸slȩy be used as such._

“Something tells me you don’t just mean his resistance to the Imperius Curse.”

Persephone didn’t say anything to that. Severus sighed. “Yes, saying I do not like any of this is a vast understatement.”

Persephone’s only answer was to set a bowl of what looked like custard pudding in front of him. It seemed she was a woman after Molly Weasley’s own heart: thinking food would solve everything.

_We know it does not, but humans do not last long if they are not nourished. We can endure many r͡ota̶t͟i͜on͟s/y͠ęa͜r̶s with no sustenance but humans perish quickly. We learned that in a hard way._

Right, because she used to be a regular guard in Azkaban before Potter got there. Severus idly wondered just how the boy managed to sway her to his side.

_We were told to keep them alive, and to ensure they retained lucid thinking. To absorb their soul energies, but not touch the c͠or̢e͠͏/̴̵͢ce҉̸͘n͡͏te̸r̴͝. And not to touch the F̮̬͇͖̫r̘̮͔͈a̠͔̙̦̩͈g̫̝̹̙̪̣̼m̵͎̞̟̗̥̝e̜̣̫̪̮̞̤n̛̝t̝̩̜._

It seemed Persephone got rather chatty as she cooked. Severus didn’t complain. He was curious, and it didn’t sound like something she should be keeping a secret.

_We were selected for the duty as the King has noted we are very precise when separating pieces of Soul for absorption. We were to guard them, ensure they do not escape, but also to keep them alive and fully functional. That was our duty, and we fulfilled it well. We are told we are not allowed to talk to our prey. We had not known the reason of that rule until we broke it._

_Theirs were bright souls, such a wonderful Light. But they began to dim, as they lost the warmth of Hope. So we talked to them, to keep them functional. Broke the rule to fulfil our duty. We only absorbed the pe̸ri̢ph̨ery. We had tried to take things they would not miss. The ones that could grow back._

_But we had not thought, that if we keep peeling away the protection of the periphery m̶͠i͜s͢t̴̷/n͢e̶̶͠b͟͡u͏l̨̛a̕/̢mo͘u̴l̛d, the ̛c̨̧o̧̡r̨͢e̕͟/̕͜͞c҉͢e͜͜n͟tę͞͝r would be left exposed._

Severus waited for her to continue but Persephone simply stood- Er, floated with her back turned to him.

“I assume that’s one of the things it would be better not to tell me?”

_Yes. But those are not what you asked about, are they?_

“Are they not?”

_You wanted to know why one like us would seek to help humans._ She turned around to face him. _Surely you have noticed the others like us do not have eyes?_

Severus’ own eyes widened in realisation. She could not possibly be insinuating what he thought she was.

_Yes, you are correct._ She turned her back to him again, returning to puttering around the kitchen.

Oh Merlin, Severus did not want to know. But he had to ask.

“Whose?”

_Ronald Weasley’s._

“...His eyes seemed fine when I saw him.”

_It took a long time to grow them back._

And just like that, Severus lost his appetite, both for this conversation and the food in front of him. Not that it stopped Persephone from continuing.

_They had asked for our help. That was the price we named. Ronald Weasley gave them willingly, saying his eyes were a fair price to pay for their escape-_

“I don’t need to know any of this,” Severus barked at her, “If it becomes necessary for me to know, for one reason or another, then fine. I imagine they would tell me themselves. But I do not want to hear more of it right now.”

He could feel Persephone’s surprise flit across his mind like a brush of feather on his wrist, but she quickly receded. Severus supposed it was because she had gotten her answers, though he hadn’t the foggiest how she managed that when Severus himself didn’t know why the story had unsettled him so much. 

Maybe it was the proof that she wasn’t nearly as benevolent as he’d been led to believe, simply fair and upholding of her end of the deal. But Severus had done nothing to warrant her help, yet she had still done it. He was in her debt.

Knowing what the price was, now, he did not feel so relaxed.

_You do not owe us,_ Persephone assured him, and Severus could feel a curl of amusement accompanying her words, _We did devour a piece of your soul and made a playground of your home. We believe it was what you would call ‘mutually beneficent’._

Severus eyed her suspiciously, but the Mona Lisa smile on her gaunt face didn’t seem either mocking or malicious. Patronising, perhaps, like Severus was a rather slow puppy, but not like she was preparing to stab him in the back.

Well. She had proven herself to be fair so far. Severus supposed he should give her the benefit of the doubt.

Also, there is a horrific thought niggling in the back of his mind that she had been feeding on the souls of the three of the worst Gryffindors Severus ever had the misfortune of teaching. Just how much of that had carried through?

For once, he didn’t get an answer before he even asked the question. But her smile did widen mischievously in a way that sent cold sweat beading down Severus’ back. 

Fuck this, Black could deal with her the same he was dealing with his misbegotten godson. 

Severus got up from the table like it was a chore. He felt disgusting after sleeping for over ten hours in clothes that had been covered in blood, both his and others’, when he laid down. Persephone had cleaned those up as well, but it didn’t erase the smell of iron and sweat. So Severus got up, stretched, and went to shower. Persephone could entertain herself for another thirty minutes, and if the Order hadn’t fallen so far, it would probably hold for just as long.

He’d almost forgotten about the cut on his face until he actually saw himself in the mirror.

The wound had scabbed, and the flesh around it seemed inflamed. Severus had not seen the curse that had done it, since it was not actually meant for him, but whatever it was, it was nasty and even a spark of the sickening puce light had been enough to nearly split his face in half. Purplish veins webbed around the wound, promising a long recovery and a disfiguring scar.

Honestly, you’d think he wasn’t ugly enough. 

But Severus had given up on any notion of vanity for his physical appearance even before he knew what either of those words meant, so he just shed his old clothes and climbed into the bathtub.

He emerged forty minutes later, and only because he’d run out of hot water. He would have heated more water with magic instead of a boiler, but despite everything that had happened and how off-kilter he felt, he still had a duty to fulfil. So he turned the cold water off, dried himself, dressed, and went to find Persephone.

Said Dementor had taken to rifling through Severus’ books, and while Severus was fine with her playing around his kitchen, he was much less fine with her _touching his books._

“Put those down, now,” he fairly growled, “We’re going to Black’s place, but it’s under Fidelius so you need him to tell you the address. I have no idea how we are supposed to convince him to let you in, but it is imperative that we do.”

_We see_ , Persephone nodded, clasped her hands, and waited. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

Severus wasn’t entirely convinced, but he threw the Floo powder into the fireplace and called Grimmauld.

“Took you long enough,” Ron Weasley was sitting cross legged in front of the fireplace, glaring at Severus like he had infinitely more important things to do than wait for him. Behind him, Black was pacing the entire length of the room, looking like he was a minute away from jumping out of his skin. He didn’t even seem to notice Severus’ head was poking out of the fireplace.

“Weasley, move aside and let Black through,” Severus told him in the tone he usually reserved for students who couldn’t even follow a recipe, “Hopefully, I’ll be sending your friend back with him.”

“Snape!” Black exclaimed and knelt down next to Weasley before the redhead could open his mouth, “What the hell happened?! We’ve got your lot tearing up the joint, Snakeface sightings all over the place and you’ve gone radio-silent! We didn’t even know you were alive until Ron said you were going to call and I needed to stay here and tell their friend the address! The hell did you do?!”

For once in their lives, Ron Weasley and Severus Snape wore the exact same expression on their faces. If there hadn’t been a war going on outside, the event would have probably gone down as the first time in recorded history that those two were of the same mind. Namely, that Sirius Black was an idiot. An anxious idiot, which was even worse.

“Sirius, mate,” Ron put a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, “Just go over there, tell the girl you see the address and come back. And, preferably, don’t pass out _before_ you do it. After is fine, but not before. Alright?”

Black looked at Weasley’s hand on his shoulder and his placid expression and his solemn words, and decided there was no correct way to react to that except be creeped out. But Black prided himself on his Gryffindor bravery, and if something needed to be done, by golly he was going to do it, which was exactly one and only reason Severus hadn’t let him die yet, so he took a deep breath and stepped through the Floo into Severus’ house. 

“Alright, where is your friend?” Black asked in resignation once he was through.

“You might want to turn around,” Severus told him.

Black raised an eyebrow, then did just that.

And came face to face with a Dementor.

Black screamed bloody murder and jumped a foot in the air. It would have been hilarious if he didn’t have the absolute indignity to leap backwards and straight into Severus, who threw his hands up around him on reflex.

“Snape!” Black screamed, “There’s a Dementor in your house!”

“You don’t say,” Severus’ voice was so dry the Sahara Desert hid its face from sheer inadequacy.

Persephone tilted her head and smiled with her thin black lips that Mona Lisa smile. Black went so pale Severus was pretty sure he would have fallen from dizziness if Severus hadn’t been holding him up.

“You- You’re the-,” Black stuttered, “Aaaaah, and you need to- But…” 

“Just tell her the address and you can go hide under your bed,” Severus drawled. The idiot was shaking so badly Severus had to plant his feet so he wouldn’t fall.

Yes, Severus was aware he was being somewhat cruel, but he had attended two years of school with Lupin after the werewolf had nearly mauled him, Black could suck it up and tolerate a Dementor that had no intention of eating him.

“Guh-Grimmauld Place, number 12,” Black practically whimpered, “London. Between Number 11 and 13.”

Persephone tilted her head the other way and nodded slightly. She turned towards the fireplace, but instead of passing through the Floo she floated forward and faded from sight as if she was walking into mist.

The moment she was gone, Black’s legs gave out. 

Severus grunted with the effort of keeping Black’s arse from hitting the floor. He would have preferred letting him drop down and bruise his tail, but Black had been borderline decent that time Severus had returned from Azkaban so he supposed he ought to do the same. He literally dragged Black to the armchair, which was the closest piece of furniture meant to be sat on. 

Black looked pale and haunted, and he was looking at his hands and his surroundings like he didn’t entirely believe they were real. Severus sighed and summoned a bottle of the strongest alcohol he had, which happened to be a bottle of Vodka he actually used for cleaning. Still, it was ethanol in acceptable concentration for human consumption, so it would do.

“Here,” Severus handed him a glass filled nearly to the brim, “I heard it helps take the edge off.”

Black looked at the glass like he was pretty sure he was hallucinating that too, but he did accept it. He stared at it as it shook in his hand, then drank it much like Severus had done, like it burned his throat about as much as water. 

Alcoholics, the lot of them. Severus was going to throw it away the moment Black was gone. 

“Snape,” Black looked up at him plaintively, “You’d never lie to me to make me feel better, would you?”

“If anything, I’d do the opposite.”

Black nodded in relief. “Then tell me… Is this real? I’m not just hallucinating again?”

“It’s real, unfortunately,” Severus told him, “The war is real, and everyone you watched die is truly dead. But the return of your godson is real. The children of Hogwarts you saved were real. The good as well as the bad memories, they are all real. Nobody is going to take them away.”

Black took a moment to digest that. “He came back different.”

Severus didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. “I imagine you did as well.”

“No, no,” Black shook his head. He looked like he was in pain. “I came back mad. The family curse I thought missed me but found a way out in that place. But Harry and his friends, they came back sane,” Black smiled humourlessly, “Trauma, maybe, but not madness. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What are you talking about then?”

“I had a conversation with Harry,” Black looked at Severus still with that helpless, hopeless smile, “He had his back to me, was making something in the kitchen. I had a whole conversation with him, and I never once opened my mouth,” he started laughing madly, “I didn’t say a word! He didn’t even notice!”

Severus calmly breathed through his nose. He did not expect his suspicions to be confirmed like this. “He has learned Legilimency?”

“No,” Black shook his head, “Only a natural one can read thoughts without looking a victim in the eye. And shit, those start showing when they’re kids, and I’m pretty sure we would have noticed _that._ ”

Black dragged a hand over his face and left it over his mouth. He looked at Severus a lot like Molly Weasley had, when he had returned from Azkaban with the news her son was alive. 

“You said he’s a Horcrux. He didn’t deny it. Does that mean…”

“From what I’ve been able to gather,” Severus started hesitantly, “Potter is not the only one who has shown similar changes?”

Black seemed derailed at the change of topic, but he took a moment to consider the question through the haze of alcohol. “Yeah… Moony’s scared to death of Hermione. She looked at him cross once and he nearly fell to the floor and rolled on his back. Can’t say I feel much better when she does that.”

“Granger is a werewolf, as I’m sure you’ve been told.”

“I have it on good authority that werewolves usually can’t do that,” Black chuckled, “You know, Moony once met Greyback. Back before Snakeface looked like a snake. He was sent to try and turn them to our cause, or at least away from Snakeface. He made Moony, you know. He was five, and his father got on Greyback’s bad side. So the big bad wolf climbed up Moony’s window right before sundown and bit him _here,_ ” Black dragged a finger along his thigh to indicate. 

Severus… Had not known that. He hadn’t exactly wondered when Lupin himself had become a werewolf, though he knew he must have been young. He sympathised, though he was rather disgruntled with that fact.

“Finish the story,” Severus told him imperiously. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Black waved a hand, “Apparently Greyback’s some kinda Alpha werewolf, pretty rare I’m told, and that’s why he’s technically the leader of all werewolves here in Britain. It also means, ten words or less, if he says ‘jump’ all werewolves ask ‘how high’. Moony said it felt weird, but it made the full moons lots easier and that was why so many others followed Greyback. Moony’s the only one who ever left on his own, and Greyback wants him dead for having some fuckin’ free will.”

“Shame it only works on werewolves,” Severus said wryly, “It certainly would have made teaching dunderheads easier.”

Black looked at Severus suspiciously, his faculties too impaired to judge if Severus was joking. Severus rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

“You were saying that Granger had a similar influence?” Severus prompted him.

Black snorted. “Not even close. Greyback said ‘jump’, Moony could still say no, it was just hard. Herm- Hermie- Mione looked mad and Moony said it's like your mother and grandmother and all great-grandmothers that made you being mad at you and like you would confess everything you did wrong in your life just so they’d stop,” Black looked conflicted for a moment, “ _I_ felt like a puppy that piddled on the carpet and I’m not even a werewolf. I’m not a wolf at all!”

“You are the height of eloquence, Black,” Severus said, words dripping with sarcasm yet again, “But you do get the point across.”

“And it’s not just Mione!” Black was on a roll, apparently, “Ron just… _says_ things!”

Perhaps he should give Black some water. How high was the alcohol percentage in that vodka anyway? “What kinds of things?”

“ _Things!”_ Black flapped his arms trying to illustrate, “He said he’s really glad I didn’t fall through the Death Gate! What even is that?! He says you need to be there, don’t go there, this is important, and Harry says ‘listen to him’ and Mione glares at us all and it turns out it _is_ important! Bill nearly got his face clawed off by a bleeding manticore! And Ron said ‘yeah, mate, lotsa things try to claw your face off, you gonna name the baby Victorie, right?’. And there was an explosion right in the place where he said ‘don’t go there’ we didn’t know about! And today- _Today_ when shit’s goin’ to hell in a handbasket he says ‘you need to be here, don’t go with the Aurors, you need to wait for Snape’ and I’m losing my mind waiting but he says y’gotta stay and then you come with a fucking _Dementor!_ ”

“I suggest you breathe, Black,” Severus told him, “I take it he has become a Seer?” 

“One does not simply _become_ a Seer!” Black waved his arms in indignation, “And he doesn’t act like a Seer! Didn’t get visions or anything, we would have noticed!”

“Yes, because you are best known for your observational skills,” Severus rubbed his temple. He was getting a headache from listening to Black for so long. Once again, he was uncomfortably reminded of Bellatrix. “What about Draco?”

“He’s fine. Mostly,” Black shrugged, “Still hasn’t said a word, but doesn’t need to. You can’t get him three feet away from Harry these days.”

“I meant if he’d developed any new abilities as well,” Severus bit out.

Black seemed confused. “None that I’ve seen. Azkaban did him in pretty hard. And Harry said that he hadn't been with them from the start.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was in actual Azkaban for a while,” Black dragged his hands over his face again, “Harry, Ron and Hermione were in the basement from the day they were captured, but Draco was up above with the other Dementors and the rest of the loony bin.”

“Then how did he get placed with them?”

“Harry said Greyback brought him down one day,” Black shrugged, “Put him in with Mione and left. He was prolly hoping she was gonna either eat him or turn him, but was shit outta luck. They let him out and he’d been with them since. But I guess he was late to the special powers party.”

Severus sat down. For a moment he held his breath, then let it out all at once. 

He had never in his life been so happy to be wrong.

What he had seen was probably minor wandless magic, learned by force of circumstance. It wasn’t even that odd, considering that Draco was still young enough to have occasional bursts of accidental magic. It was only a matter of channelling it properly, and Severus doubted they had much else to do in Azkaban. The actual, major healing feats must have fallen to Persephone. Severus had seen her casual display of powerful magic, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine healing was one of them, despite her Dark nature.

Magic was only as evil as the purpose it was used for.

“Wait,” Black said with a suspicious look on his face, “Didn’t I ask you something important?”

“Hm? Ah, yes,” Severus leaned forward again, “The Horcrux. That’s why Persephone needed to come to Grimmauld Place. She said she could remove the Horcrux without killing Potter, or otherwise damage him, and considering I’ve seen what she could do I’m inclined to believe her.”

Black froze for a moment then turned to look at Severus in sheer horror. His pale eyes flickered to the cut on Severus’ cheek, then turned back to him. “She _spoke_ to you?”

“Yes,” Severus frowned, “Why is that so strange?”

“They can’t actually _talk,_ Snape. The only way they can actually say things is if they literally eat a part of your soul, then they push bits of magic in the gaps left behind that your brain interprets as words.”

“Yes,” Severus said plainly. He had figured out that much on his own.

Black stared. 

“Well,” he nodded to himself, “I always knew you were actually soulless. Makes sense you’d be friends with Dementors.”

“Then what does that make Potter?” Severus got up and went to the Floo, “And I suggest you follow his lead, since you’ll be living with her until we find a better place to hide them.”

Black spluttered as Severus took a handful of powder and threw it into the fireplace. Black could find his own way back home. 

When he passed through, he found chaos on the other side.

Granger looked halfway to transforming as she held Moody’s arm twisted in a vice grip, forced to his knees, heedless of the wands pointed at her. Weasley was holding Moody’s wand carefully, not yet pointing it at anyone but suspiciously eyeing Tonks and Bill.

“-came here to help!” Granger was yelling, “She risked everything to help us, and you attacked her before we could get a word in, you disgusting paranoid little bastard!”

“Hermione, please,” Bill came closer to her, arms held up in a gesture of surrender, “We just came back from battle, there are Death Eaters all over the place searching for you. We’re all high-strung, and we didn’t know your friend was a-,” he chuckled a little helplessly, “a Dementor. We won’t do anything again, please let him go.”

Granger growled so hard even Severus got the strongest urge to walk back into the fireplace carefully, without turning his back to her and hoping she wouldn’t notice. Bill, who actually did have some werewolf traits from the day Greyback attacked him, pulled his shoulders up around his ears and bowed his head slightly. 

“He’s telling the truth,” Potter’s voice came from the stairs, green eyes surveying all the faces looking at Granger, “But Moody will try to attack the moment you give him his wand back, so keep it on you, Ron.”

“Way ahead of ya, mate,” Weasley grinned. 

Granger threw a glance at them and released Moody none too gently. The head Auror scrambled back up to his feet with Tonks’ help, not for a second taking his eyes off Granger. 

Severus decided to take that as his cue.

“I assume you haven’t been told of the purpose of her visit?” he said evenly as all heads in the room turned to him. “Persephone has graciously offered to help with our little Horcrux problem.”

Yet another commotion started immediately after the first. Weasley, the younger one, rolled his eyes at that and went upstairs, presumably where Persephone was. As he passed Potter he clapped him on the shoulder and sent a pointed look his way, one that clearly said ‘don’t do anything stupid’. 

Potter smiled cherubically. Weasley obviously decided it was a lost cause and went up and out of sight, muttering something under his breath. 

The moment he was gone, Potter’s gaze turned shrewd and immediately sought out Severus. 

Knowing what he knew now, Severus had come prepared. With a mild expression he turned to Potter and raised an eyebrow slightly, his Occlumency shields up and strong. He wasn’t even bothering trying to mislead Potter, merely closed the proverbial door in his face and locked it.

Potter looked surprised, then delighted. “You know.”

“Black told me,” Severus said, “He has expressed some concerns about your ability to hold a conversation without the other party actively participating.”

Potter looked chastised, but no less happy. “Yeah, not my finest moment.”

“Indeed,” Severus looked at him suspiciously. Why did he seem so excited that he _couldn’t_ read Severus’ mind? 

“Professor,” Weasley came back down the stairs, dragging Draco by the hand. “Draco said he wanted to talk to you.”

Draco, for his part, looked absolutely terrified to be out here in the open with someone announcing that he actually _could_ talk. But Weasley pushed him towards Severus with surprising gentleness and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the doors that, if Severus remembered correctly, led to the kitchen. 

Potter fretted over Draco with his characteristic clumsiness until he was glared at. Then he just sighed and joined Granger in explaining Persephone’s presence at Grimmauld Place. 

Despite himself, Severus found their social dynamics fascinating. At first glance Potter seemed to be the leader, but was cowed just by a look from Draco, so his authority seemed to be agreed upon rather than forced. Weasley seemed to have taken Granger’s place as the leading authority on planning and she had become the brawn of the group. Understandable, considering their respective abilities, but it was entertaining to watch how they adjusted to it. 

Draco gave Severus a look that all but spelled out ‘I am surrounded by idiots’, which was such a familiar expression something in Severus’ chest tightened almost painfully. He remembered Black’s words, how Draco had been at the mercy of Dementors that didn’t have any, not even for their own kind. He had been worried about him, even though he couldn’t afford to be.

It was good to see not all of Draco had been lost. 

They walked into the kitchen proper, the door automatically closing behind them. The moment the lock clicked Draco threw his arms around Severus, something he hadn’t done since the summer before he’d gone to Hogwarts. Back then, he had barely reached Severus’ chest. Now, he was tall enough to prop his chin on his godfather’s shoulder. 

“Hi, Uncle Sev,” Draco whispered raspily, and Severus’ chest tightened all over again at the proof that Draco could indeed still speak. His arms tightened around Draco accordingly. 

He hadn’t called Severus that in even longer. 

“Are you alright?” Severus asked the top of Draco’s head.

“Better now,” Draco pulled back and looked at Severus with eyes full of worry, “Are mother and father alright?”

Severus let his unease show on his face, but only slightly. “The Dark Lord wasn’t pleased with the news of your disappearance. Narcissa is fine, but Lucius is still recovering.”

Draco turned even paler than he usually was. His hand twitched up before he could abort the motion. “How bad?”

“As I said: he is recovering,” Severus repeated a bit more insistently. Draco looked like a strong gust of wind would knock him over, and three Gryffindors watching over him or not, Severus felt it better not to worry him.

Draco didn’t seem to entirely believe him either way. Severus sighed. 

“I will inform you of his progress,” Severus promised, “You need to stay here and stay safe. That is all your parents want for you. There is nothing more you can do.”

Draco flinched in a way Severus recognised as guilt. Before Severus could stop him, Draco raised his hand to his face, to cup his cheek so his thumb rested on the edge of the cursed cut. 

He dragged the pad of his finger over the cut, suffusing it with gentle warmth, and the pain Severus hadn’t even realised was there _vanished._

Draco lowered his arm and looked away.

Severus’ own hand shot up to his face, but he felt nothing but normal, unharmed skin. Wordless, wandless, and motionless, Draco Malfoy healed a cursed wound _perfectly._

Severus’ blood drained out of his face.

“Who else knows?” he asked.

“Just my- Just Harry and them,” Draco shrugged uncomfortably, “Persephone. And you.”

“Good. Keep it that way,” Severus commanded him, “Under no circumstance is that information to reach the Dark Lord, understand?”

Draco wrapped his arms around himself defensively but nodded.

“And Draco,” Severus looked him in the eye, “No matter what happens, don’t do anything stupid. Lucius will be alright.”

Draco’s lips thinned in displeasure, but after a moment of hesitation he nodded again.

Severus did not trust that nod. But he couldn’t do much about it right now. 

“We should go back,” Draco whispered, and even that much seemed to take the energy from him. 

Severus agreed. With one last squeeze of Draco’s thin shoulder, he turned to the door and left, the perfect picture of composure, not letting his fears show.

Weasley had given his eyes away yet was walking around like nothing was amiss. Eyes could not be transplanted, not real ones, as Moody was proof. Persephone’s words came back to haunt him.

_It took a long time to grow them back._

_Grow._ Regeneration of tissue of the highest level. Persephone had never specified _she_ had been the one to do it. 

Because she hadn’t been.

He needed a Pensieve as soon as possible. Hopefully, Black had one lying around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Persephone's lines were all supposed to be Zalgo text but it rendered the whole thing unreadable so I just Zalgoed parts Snape doesn't understand either.

**Author's Note:**

> If the writing style seems different from TWN, that's deliberate. This is still Severus' POV, but he is in a very different position, age and mindframe here and I tried to reflect that, and due to the way I think Occlumency works is that he's switching between the Spy mindset for the Order and the Death Eater mindset for Voldemort. This difference becomes rather stark in the next chapter.


End file.
